PressurePoints
by StandingByChambers
Summary: Gordie Lachance's life is changing. On accord of his mother's death, his father moved what remained of the family to New York City, and enrolled him in Huntington Prep for Boys. And when his notebook with all his secrets and possible feelings for Chris gets stolen, and he begins to receive threatening messages from an anonymous source, can he figure himself out in time?
1. Caspar

**HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY GUYS! I'M BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER WITH A NEW FANFIC! IT'S BEEN SO LONG! AAGH!**

**Alright so basically I decided to take a break from my real novel I'm writing and do this instead. Chapter one is a little bit floppy and I'll probably add on later, but please review and such. Hope you like it!  
Best,**

**Tommy**

* * *

**ONE**

Something was still off.

Gordie looked at himself one last time in the mirror. Dark hair combed carefully, sweeping over his forehead and gelled back to a slick. Dark eyes and eyelashes, cold and judging, a set jaw to match. He cocked his head at the unfamiliar Gordie Lachance standing in the dusty full-length mirror. Blush blue plaid shirt, dark tie, matching indigo slacks and blazer, complete with the intricate pin clipped to the collar of the thick fabric. Nervously, he adjusted the jacket, tightening the cufflinks and shuffling in the stiff, shiny black shoes. Still, something was off. He wrinkled his nose, shrugged his shoulders, rolled his neck and then tugged tightly on his bottom lip, thinking, still staring closely, eye to eye with himself. What was it?

Castle Rock Gordie was much more different from New York Gordie than he thought he would be. Castle Rock Gordie still had friends. Three of them, three reliable ones. Vern. Teddy. Chris, especially. But why, Gordie asked himself, was he here? Oh, of course he knew. Of course he knew…

He knew exactly why he was here.

_I'm not scared. _Gordie reassured himself, but it sounded more like a question than a statement in his jumbled up mind. _Besides. Polly Prep will be great. Better than Castle Rock Middle, anyway. Nothing to worry about. Besides, there will be a lot of new kids joining in eight grade, right? _Gordie sighed, shaking his head. Of course there wouldn't be. His dad had to move mountains to get him into this school because they didn't have any more room for new arrivals. But, of course, his dad always got what he wanted. _Always. _

"Gordie!?" A voice yelled. Gordie sighed, looking up from himself and around his plain bedroom. His bare bedroom. Not _his _bedroom, no. The landlord's bedroom, in the landlord's building. He had always hated apartments…

"Coming!" He yelled, looking one last time back at himself before padding towards the door of his bedroom.

* * *

"Gordie, you know my expectations for this school year, don't you?"

Gordie looked up, slack-jawed at Mr. Lachance, nodding dumbly like he always did when he had no idea what his dad was talking about.

"No screwing around this semester, alright?" He said. Gordie sunk lower in the worn leather seats of the family Subaru, nodding glumly and tugging his brother's Yankee's cap lower over his eyes. "Just because you're in a new school does not mean I will accept less than a B+ on anything, is that clear? Any slip-ups and I'm contacting the councilor."

"But dad!" Gordie protested, shooting up. "Dad, we had a deal! It's been a year, dad, I don't need to see some damn councilor!"

"Well, this is the deal now." Mr. Lachance said firmly. "Your grades make so much as one dip and you're going right to Ms. Sanders. Yes, Gordie?"

Gordie glared at him, placing his hand on the base of the seatbelt and unbuckling.

"Gordon…"

"Alright, okay!" Gordie exclaimed, looking out the open window and out at the unfamiliar parking lot. "She's dead anyways…"

"Gordon Lachance, you take that back this instant!"

But the car door had already slammed behind him, and Gordon Lachance was racing across the asphalt towards the school in front of him.

* * *

Polly Prep Academy for Boys was positively huge. Looking up at it now, Gordie realized how near _tiny_ he was compared to the castle-turned-school, the grey stone walls towering yards and yards over his head, windows precariously placed along it's surface, faces of boys peeking out, milling through the hallways. Looking at this, Gordie began to feel uncomfortably aware of those pushing past him on the way through the thick iron gates that stood in front of him. Gordie looked around. Blank faces, faces smiling, heads bobbing in pairs, in threes, all alone, blonde heads, brown heads, red heads, green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, all a flash of indigo and baby blue around him. Baseball bats, lacrosse sticks, smiling faces and footballs being tossed over his heads. Nobody paid him any mind, save for the occasional strange look, an unrecognized stranger on preppy-boy territory. This wasn't Castle Rock. Oh boy, if Chris could see him now.

"Yo, look out, man!"

Gordie's head turned abruptly, just in time to see a baseball flying straight for his face. On a reflex, his arm shot out and smacked the ball out of the air, encasing it in a hard grip, bumping into a few other boys within the ameba of students in the process. Surprised at himself, Gordie looked around and then down at his hand, which still held firm to the baseball. He flipped it over in his palms, investigating the dusty surface, upon which was etched the name C. D'Anthony messily in black Sharpie. Gordie looked around for the owner, but saw no one. He bit his lip, craning his neck over the sea of boys.

"Hey, you've got a pretty good arm there." A voice said. Gordie whipped around. In front of him stood a boy surprisingly resembling a cool and composed yet still eager-to-please golden retriever puppy. The boy was of soft features, a fair mass of corn-colored golden hair flopping over his forehead, slightly buzzed at the sides, but long-growing and wavy at the top, light eyebrows and grey eyes. His friendly, lopsided smile was radiant, bright teeth, flashing canines and soft pink lips that turned up just at the corners. The usually unflattering dust blue clashing with the almost-purple of the uniform somehow brought out the cloudy-grey of his eyes. Ultimately, the boy was gorgeous, his mop of hair flopping to one side when he tilted his head in his puppy-dog way at Gordie.

"Haven't seen you around before." The boy admitted. Gordie shrugged.

"I'm new." He replied simply.

"Of course." The fair-haired boy said, looking Gordie over with recognition. "What's your name?"

"Gordie." He told him, giving a smile.

"Caspar." The boy said, reaching out to shake his hand, but getting his ball back instead. "Hey, you should join the baseball team." He told Gordie with interest. Gordie shrugged. "I see your a fan." Caspar nodded towards the Yankee hat atop his dark head.

"Not really. It was my brother's."

"Oh, is he here?" Caspar asked.

"No…" Gordie rubbed the back of his neck. "He's kind of…" He swallowed. "Dead."

"Oh…" Caspar shuffled his feet, grimacing. "Oh, sorry."

"Nah, it's cool." Gordie shrugged again. "It was a while ago."

Caspar nodded awkwardly.

"I'd better not be late." He said finally. "Uh, I'll see you around!" He smiled, making to turn around. "And I meant what I said. You should join. Also," he leaned in closer. "Word to the wise, I wouldn't wear that hat inside if I were you. Strict policies."

Gordie nodded gratefully, removing the ht and shoving it into his backpack. And with a wave, Caspar was gone. Gordie watched him go.


	2. Gavin

**I tried to pick up my cat and he got mad and scratched me so I bled all over the keyboard while writing this and I didn't realize cause I touchtyped oh well *sigh* #demoncat**

**Chapter two, yaas! I really hope some people read this because I really like this story and/or don't want the Stand By Me fandom to die out yet **

**Love, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

Gordie looked around the long hallway. Boys ran about, jogging to make it to class before the bell. The entrance hall was surprisingly bright and sunny-far from what Gordie had expected it to be. A large main hall inhabited most of the first floor, at the end of which stood a large flight of stone steps, illuminated by the custom blush-blue and navy indigo stained glass, depicting various mottos of the school and the blue-toned school crest in the center, covalt light filtering through it's surface and illuminating Gordie's face in a bounty of colors. Branching off from the main corridor like spider legs were smaller, darker hallways, lined with doors to classrooms from which classes going on could be heard.

"As you already know, Huntington Prep is a prestigious school. It's values are simple; greatness is achieved only by discipline and hard work." The tall, slender woman click-clacking in shiny kitten heels next to Gordie sighed nostalgically. She looked to be in her late fifties or so, her brittle, grey-shot hair pulled up into a bun and held there by a worn-out chopstick. Her dark blue cardigan was linty, her grey tights striped with runs and her black pleated shirt in desperate need of ironing. Gordie had look since forgotten her name, only that she was the Assistant Principal or something, but would rather struggle to concentrate on her words instead of the lipstick on her teeth than her title. Gordie looked up at her as if with interest. She sighed again. "Such a wonderful school. Our morales have been around since 1879. Simply the truth, don't you agree?"

Suddenly, she looked down at Gordie expectantly. Caught off guard, Gordie stammered for a few seconds, then blurted, "Oh, yes, of course!"

She nodded, satisfied, leading him further down the hallway.

"As you will soon find, the school is both a day school and boarding school. Some stay and some leave for the night. You all are housed separately, but taught together." She mounted the steps, reaching the first landing, Gordie in toe. Through the stained glass, he could make out the outline of a large field, boys running to and fro about it. "Our school is _very _sports oriented. We have some of the very best varsity teams around." She added proudly. "Do you play a sport?"

Gordie grimaced.

"No." He answered simply. She nodded, but she looked stern. "But my brother played football. He was amazing at it. Best on his team." Gordie put in hastily, sighing for effect. Once again, the woman nodded firmly.

"There was a kid…" Gordie continued for lack of conversation. "He said I would be good on the baseball team. Said I had a good arm."

"Was it someone from this school?" The woman turned to him, her eyes alight but her face uninterested.

"Yeah…" Gordie remembered the face of the boy with the radiant smile and a glow like sunshine. "Caspar D'Angelo, I think it was."

"Of course." The woman faced front again, reciting like a computer. "Caspar D'Angel. GPA of a solid 3.95. Golden student. Wonderful personality. Brilliant at sports; he was the captain of the baseball and football teams for three years straight. It figures that he would speak to you. That's something he would do. Was he friendly?"

"Oh, yeah." Gordie rubbed the back of his neck. "Seemed like a nice guy."

The woman turned to him.

"He is. I think he would be a good match for you." She nodded pensively. "I'd like for him to show you around. I think it would be good for the both of you."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Gordie shrugged. "I mean, I wouldn't want to intrude on his personal life-"

"Trust me." She assured. "He'd love to."

She sighed again, swaying her head from side to side in a sort of 'but what can we do?' way.

"But you've already been assigned someone." Her expression dropped. "Gavin Maccaffer." Her tone was bland and dry, over accentuating the first letters of this boy's name. Gordie almost snorted, but holding it back made it come out as more of a squeak. The woman glared at him. "But he'll have to do. He's the only one on the welcoming committee, anyway." She laughed a little, almost mockingly. "We're waiting for him now. Disorganized boy. Brilliant, but disorganized. No wonder he's late."

Unsure of how to respond, Gordie bit his lip and watched the boys outside the window, trying to pinpoint some of their faces, muscular hands gripping onto lacrosse sticks. He had to admit, the woman hadn't been bluffing; they _did _seem to have a very good team. Their shots were powerful, stealing the ball and throwing it around from stick to stick. As Gordie looked closer, he could pinpoint one of the faces behind the heavy gear. The sunshine-yellow curls peeking out from underneath the mask looked strikingly like one none other than Caspar. Gordie stiffened. He really _was _good; powerful, strong shots, muscles threading his hands and arms and toned legs, face concentrated with his beautifully chiseled jawline, sweat creating a small triangle of moisture right at the collar of his blue jersey just under the developing lump of his Adam's apple-

"Hey, sorry I'm-" A crash, and something tumbling across the marble. Gordie jumped in time with the assistant principal and whipped around, looking down the landing and at the figure crouching down to gather up the sheets of paper fluttering to the floor, open hard-shell typewriter case at his side. The woman sighed. Gordie watched, half with interest and half with judgement as the boy stuffed the sheets into a dark blue folder sitting open on his lap. He raised his head a little, but Gordie could only see the tips of dark brown hair tufting out from under the black PRESS cap perched comfortably on his head. He wore the same uniform as Gordie, but with a bit less swagger and coolness about him as Caspar had-no jacket partially unbuttoned, tie loose and hands in pockets. A black Polaroid camera hang open around his neck

"Sorry, Ma'am." He muttered as he clipped closed the case and began his way up the steps, looking down. Gordie strained to get a good look at his face, but couldn't see much. "I was working on something and lost track of-" It was then that he raised his head and met Gordie's eyes. His mouth stopped, and so did his feet, and for a moment he looked surprised, then interested, then blank, an indescribable expression playing over his face, as if time had quit ticking and the world had paused spinning. Now that his head was tilted upwards, the blue light of the stained glass beat out the shadow of the brim of his black felt hat, and Gordie could see his features clearly. He was handsome, but not in the way that one would think. Unconventional, not striking and golden-haired like Caspar was, but still equally attractive. His hair was cut short, dark brown like Gordie's and gelled so that it stayed away from his face and peaked just a little before hiding behind his cap. His eyes were dark green and large, shining as he watched Gordie. His nose was rounded and blunt, an unexpressed ski-slope in the center of his slightly-round face, which wasn't very shape-ful, but still defined at the jaw and chin. His skin was an almost-beige color of an even light tan, not a freckle marring his warm, clear complexion.

It was then that Gordie began to feel the awkwardness of the situation, with the boy staring and smiling with interest at him, and he studying the boy with interest and question. The woman cleared her throat. The boy blinked.

"Oh." He looked down, then up again at Gordie and smiled. His teeth were pristinely white, but not movie-star blinding. "Oh! Sorry, Ms. Graves. I got a little…" He cleared his throat as well, coming to stand unison with Gordie on the landing, with Gordie noticing his height in comparison to his, which was tall. The boy was a little beefier than him, but still with a sensitive touch to his air. "Caught up."

Ms. Graves raised an eyebrow up and down again in one quick movement, giving him a grimacing smile in a way to say 'yes, and don't do it again.'

"Mr. Maccaffer, this is Gordon Lachance. Gordon, this is Mr. Maccaffer." She introduced the boys with little enthusiasm.

The boy turned to Gordie.

"Gavin." He said, raising his hand to shake Gordie's, who did so, the boy's firm grip catching him by surprise. He gave him a meaningful look in the eyes.

"Gordie." Gordie muttered with an uncertain edge, avoiding his gaze. Gavin released.

"Well." Ms. Graves said finally. Both boys turned to her, attent and at the ready for instructions. "I'll see to it that you will show Gordon around the school, then take him to his third period class and no later. I will keep close tabs, Maccaffer. I want you and Mr. Lachance to be back in class by eleven-thirty-five sharp. Is that clear?"

Gavin nodded. Gordie bobbed his head.

"Absolutely, ma'am." Gordie's companion smiled. "No fooling around."

Ms. Graves's smile lowered to a glower.

"You'd better not."

And with that, she mounted the steps upwards and was off before either boys could say a word.

* * *

**QUESTION FOR THE READER;**

**DO YOU LIKE GAVDON (Gordie+Gavin) or GORDAR (Gordie+Caspar) OR DO YOU JUST LIKE CHRISDIE BETTER ALL TOGETHER? YEAH THIS IS KINDA GUNNA END UP BEING ANOTHER GAY FANFIC BUT I PROMISE IT'S DIFFERENT OKAY? **

**YOUR VERY GAY SBM FANBOY, **

**-TOMMY**

**(ps wtf am I doing with my life :')**

**(pps haha I just came out online and I'm waiting for hate like...)**


	3. The Tabloids

**Agh, no one has read my story yet/reviewed yet. Poop. Oh well, I might change this to a real novel by changing the names around a little, so all is well, I guess...**

**Hope you like! IDK if I ship Gavin and Gordie, Caspar and Gordie or just plain old Chris and Godrie yet...hmmm...**

**-Tommy**

* * *

"So, where are you from?" Gavin asked for the sake of small talk. Gordie looked around the quiet hallway. Even the last-minute stragglers had already made their way to class, so it was just him and his tour guide in the deserted 2nd floor corridor.

"Castle Rock." Gordie said nostalgically. Even the name uncovered memories Gordie didn't even want to think about because it made him so sad.

"Hmm…" Gavin thought. "Where's that?"

"Oregon." Gordie replied. "Small town, really, but my whole life was there.

"So what made you come here?" Gavin asked with interest.

"My mom passed around the end of 6th grade summer. Dad figured that he couldn't afford the house and we didn't need it since my brother…" Gordie shook his head. "God, there's so much death in my family, I mean, I really think he wanted to get away from it. So did I, but that meant leaving my friends…" Chris's face flashed over his mind. His eyes glazed. "But he thought he could man me up a little and be more sports-centered like my brother, so he sent me here."

"So if you don't play sports…" Gavin deduced, "And your dad wanted you to man up, what _do _you do?"

Gordie shrugged.

"I don't really know." He replied honestly. "It kind of just…I don't know."

Gavin chuckled.

"You do know…" He said with a smile, shoving him a little with his shoulder. "What do you do? What's your secret?"

Gordie grimaced at the word 'secret'.

"I like to write." He forced through his teeth. "A lot. More than I'd like to admit. Chris always told me I shouldn't let my dad decide what I do, but now that my mom's gone, and he's not around, I guess that I have to."

"I saw a look in your eyes." Gavin said, looking at Gordie straight in the face. "Who's Chris?"

Gordie gulped, faltering in his steady pace.

"He's my best friend." He said simply. "My dad always hated him. Bad family rep. He won't even let me mail him."

"Oh." Gavin looked down. "That sucks man. Good thing I don't have anyone to write to, so I don't have to worry."

Gordie laughed, thinking about what he had just given up to Gavin. He barely even knew him, and yet he had told him about half his world. Why had he done that? Was it his charm? His smile? His reporter cap and camera that somehow said "tell me your secrets! I'm important and gossip matters to me!"? Maybe it was the reassuring handshake, or the way he smiled and made eye contact with his dark, off-green eyes that were almost the color of grass but slightly touched with the Hershey's milk chocolate undertone, but there was something about him that just compelled you to talk to him. Like you could trust him with your deepest fears and darkest secrets and-

Gordie shook his head. What? That was creepy.

He glanced over at Gavin, who glanced at Gordie, then retreated his gaze to his shoes. Gordie did the same.

"I write too." Gavin said finally. "More of the reporting stuff, but still." He touched the brim of his PRESS cap. "I work with the school newspaper, but it mostly writes about sports and stuff…I like working with the more interesting things, but it's not like anybody will ever read _that. _They only care about the scores of yesterday evening's game. It's good, though, because I get to go to all the games without being questioned about why I'm there. Getting to watch football guys run around in skin tight leggings and headgear…yay…exciting…" Gavin smiled at his sarcasm. Gordie laughed.

"Reporting could be cool." He said. "I haven't written much. I want to get more serious about it, but I don't think that it'll get anywhere past the story about some kid named Lardass Hogan making everyone puke all over each other to get revenge for ranking him out and calling him fat all the time."

Gavin laughed.

"Well, for the record," Gavin said, leaning a little closer and lowering his voice, "I think that sounds pretty brilliant."

"Really?" Gordie smiled at him, forgetting to try and keep composed. "Hey, thanks, man. Most people besides Chris and Denny didn't think that my writing was worth shit, but now Denny's dead and Chris is all the way back in Castle Rock, so now I guess…" He sighed, looking up. They had reached the end of the hallway.

"Well, I guess that's the end of the school." Gavin checked his watch. "Hey, it's it's only eleven-ten. We have twenty minutes. You want to go sit by the field?"

Gordie shrugged.

"Sure."

"No, no, no, but actually." Gavin laughed. "What is the deal with those tabloids that lie about _everything? _Like I don't get it! Who even actually cares if…I don't know…Shelby Landsman is pregnant or had an affair with Bob DeBobert? Honestly, it's so ridiculous."

Gordie gestured towards Gavin's camera.

"Say's the reporter!"

"But I'm different." Gavin reasoned. "I write about _sports. _I'm pretty sure I can't include a freak pregnancy in a middle school league baseball match report for the newspaper. Oh look! There goes Shelby up to bat and-whoops, what's that baby doing there?"

Gordie grinned, imagining a small child just popping out right in the middle of a game. He looked out at the field. It was sunny out, a cool late-summer breeze cooling his perspiring neck and the hot line of sweat by the collar of thick uniform blazer. He watched the lacrosse boys carefully, pinpointing Caspar as he stepped to the side, dropping his stick and removing his headgear, and shaking off his sweaty blonde tuft like a lion's mane, he then walked over to the bright orange Gatorade water cooler and poured some over his face, drenching his sweaty white shirt and hair. After swiping his dripping hair from his eyes, he looked around, then caught Gordie. He smiled and waved. Gordie hesitated, then waved back.

"Woah." Gavin muttered in a low whisper as Caspar began to make his way towards the bleachers. "You know him?"

"Yeah." Gordie said casually, even though he was surprised at himself for establishing himself with, apparently, one of the most popular boys in school. In Castle Rock, Chris, Teddy, Vern and him were considered outcasts and loved it. Here, well…maybe things would be different… "Met him a little bit ago. Not really a big deal. He seems nice…"

"Yeah, I'll say…" Gavin began, but slapped on a fake smile as Caspar slowed in front of them.

"Hey, Lachance." Caspar chin-nodded towards him. He glanced at Gavin. "Maccaffer."

"Hey…" Gavin said with an unenthusiastic nod. Caspar came to lean on the bleachers a few steps down.

"So." He said, tilting his head adorably once again. Gordie smiled involuntarily, then wiped his face clean of it. "What brings you here?"

"You know…" Gordie shrugged. "Had some extra time after the tour."

Caspar nodded slowly, pressing his lips together.

"So, what's your next class?" He asked. Gordie reached into his bag and took out the neatly pressed schedule folded inside. "English with Ms. Sanders in room 205."

"Oh, sweet!" Caspar's face lit up. "I've got that same class! See you there, then, I guess."

"See you there." Gordie smiled tightly, as did Gavin.

Caspar waved, grabbed his stick, and was gone.

"Well, we'd better get to class." Gavin said, getting up quickly and gathering his things. "After that tour, I'm guessing you'll know how to get there, right?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Great, see you at lunch!" Gavin interrupted. And with that, he was gone, leaving Gordie slack jawed and wondering.

It was already fading, but Gordie concentrated just enough to catch it in time. A fizzy feeling. A little bubbly, warm pile of cherry-pie-bubblegum-pink-hearts-and-roses feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him giddy. Shocked by this new development, Gordie gripped his stomach. He thought that it was just first day jitters, but why did it begin to fade just when Caspar left and come back when he returned?

Gordie shook his head. He'd been through this before, with different people, different places, different feelings and different circumstances. And he'd been able to deal with it. He could deal with this too. After all, he was only thirteen. 8th grade was just a trial period. This was nothing but a trial period….

Right?


	4. D'Anthony Must Die

**OOh, yay, new chapter! Sorry I haven't been on for so long. I had this overnight at school so I didn't get to post when I would have liked...oh well...  
****Ugh, I keep forgetting to put in the little divider things, so I had to go through this time and figure out where to put them so that the story actually makes sense...the struggle...gahh**

**Best, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

"Hey Dad!" Gordie called, picking up the pile of letters that sat under the letter slot at the front door of their tiny apartment.

"How was school?" Mr. Lachance called.

"Good!" He called absentmindedly, leafing through the letters. Bills, notices, work mail and final paychecks from his dad's old job. Even the bill for the extra whine his dad had chugged at his mom's funeral. Gordie grimaced, shoving that to the bottom of the small pile to reveal a tattered, grainy envelope. In shaky back pen, the letter was addressed to him, Gordie Lachance. He glanced at the return address, then shoved it into the deep pocket of his school pants.

"Mails here." He said, moseying into the dark kitchen where his dad sat in front of his typewriter, busy at work. Gordie slammed down the letters onto the small, round wooden table to catch his father's attention. Mr. Lachance looked up.

"Oh, thank you." He muttered. For the sake of parenting, he added again, "How was school?"

"Pretty good." Gordie shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket atop the dirty white refrigerator and taking a bite, looking up at the bright florescent light hanging over his head. "I met some cool people. Classes were nice, but the assistant principal is pretty tough."

"Who did you meet?" Mr. Lachance asked, suddenly interested. Gordie shrugged.

"Some kid named Caspar and another guy, Gavin. He was my tour guide." He explained with a sigh.

"What do they do?" Mr. Lachance asked, continuing to type furiously until his fingers slipped through the keys of the typewriter.

Gordie gulped.

"Well, Caspar kind of does everything…good at sports, good in school…" Mr. Lachance nodded approvingly. "And Gavin is a writer." Thinking that his son wasn't looking, Mr. Lachance rolled his eyes. "He's in the school news paper." Gordie's dad pursed his lips.

"That's great, Gordie." He said in default. "I'm glad you found some friends. Maybe we can have them over sometime, as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies."

"That would be great, dad." Gordie replied, although he knew he would never want Gavin nor Caspar to see the likes of this crappy apartment, let alone leaving both boys in the same room together. They had, Gordie had gathered, a history together, and for better or for worst, it wasn't something to be messed with.

"Good. Now, don't you have a lot of homework to do?" Mr. Lachance glanced up from his work for a few seconds to look at Gordie.

"Oh, yes sir, I'll get right on it, sir." Gordie nodded curtly, then scurried down the hall and into the closed room of his bedroom. He stared around at the mess; white walls, white bed spread, white plastic horizontal blinds letting in a few slivers of afternoon sunlight into the stained, used-to-be-white-but-is-now-cream wall-to-wall carpet. A plain wooden desk holding his typewriter sat, accompanied by a chair, in one corner, and a wooden dresser for his clothing in the other. His mirror and closet stood alone by the door on the other end of the small room. Gordie sighed at the scene, but then plopped down on the bed and reached into his pocket.

The letter was still there.

Making sure the door was locked, he set down his backpack on the ground and, hesitantly at first, began to rip open the sticky tab of the cheap, crumpled envelope. Inside, two sheets of ripped-out notebook paper sat folded into each other neatly, the strikes of black pen bleeding through the page. With excitement in his hands, Gordie glanced one last time at the door, and then removed the papers and unfolded them carefully. Straining to read the messy-but-getting-better handwriting, Gordie began to read.

_September 4, 1961_

_Dear Gordie, _

_Oh man, would you look at this. I can't believe you're gone. You're off to New York city and Vern and Teddy and I are stuck back here in good old Castle Rock. Third year of Junior High isn't as bad as you'd think…the teachers have kinda grown on me, but I'm still pretty hated everywhere. Still taking the college courses. My dad's not taking very good to it, but that's alright. _

_I'm sure you're doing fine. That preppy school doing you any good? I swear, if anyone says shit about you, I will personally come over and kill them, alright? Guessing you're with the smartasses there as well. You made any friends, or you've scared them all off already? _

_Castle Rock is fine. It's really getting hot here, even hotter than last summer; 90-something digress man. Geez. Dad won't buy us an air conditioner, either, so I'm stuck here dying on my bed with every window in the house open…I swear. Vern and Teddy won't leave their houses because of this heat, not even to go to the tree house or anything. Man, I wish you were here…_

_Vern and Teddy still kind of hate you for leaving, but Vern not as much as Teddy. He's kinda just sad that the gang is all spit up, and is worried I'm the next to go…not quite sure he realizes that I'm not moving to some hoity-toity private school for a very long time. Oh well. At least he tried. They're still in the shop courses, anyway. Teddy's pretty sure you just ditched us because you don't like us anymore…he always takes things to heart too much. _

_We miss you, Gordie! I'm sure your dad is treating you right (right?) and you'll be making new friends in no time (but not as good a friend as me). _

_See you soon!_

_(But not if I see you first…)_

_Your best friend, _

_-Chris Chambers _

_P.S. When do you think I could come for a visit? _

_P.P.S. When could _you _come for a visit?_

Gordie sighed, staring down at the letter. This was Chris. His best friend, Chris. How could he let his dad leave him?

Mr. Lachance would kill him if he found these letters. He had already said clearly that he wanted Gordie to have nothing to do with the boys in Castle Rock, to start anew and ignore Chris entirely. Gordie sighed. Oh well. He had defied his father before, and he was almost half willing to do it again.

From inside his backpack, Gordie pulled out an empty folder and a pen. On it, he simply write _C.C _in neat block letters, then stuck the two papers inside, closing the folder and sliding it under his mattress. He had to keep both himself and his letters to Chris hidden.

And with that, he crossed the small room and sat down at the desk. He stared at the dark green typewriter atop it for a few minutes. Dark. Menacing. But a safe haven after it all. He knew what he wanted to do. To leaf a sheet of paper into it's great rolling mouth and write to Chris, telling him his everything, his life, his feelings.

So he began to write.

_Dear Chris, _

_I'm so glad to hear from you! I have to keep these letters secret from my dad, though, so best not to write a return address…_

_I hope everything is good back home! How's the house, and the new family there? Hope they haven't destroyed the place, even though it _is_ kind of their house now. I miss that place so much, heat wave and all! I wish I was back instead of here. _

_The apartment is nice though, and so is the city, even though I'm not really in the city, just right on the edge of the suburbs, right on the brink before the houses start to get nice around where Huntington is. Everyone is so preppy and sports-y there. I've only found one other kid who likes to write, but at least he's allowed to to what he wants to, whereas I can't. I really wish I could come visit! Maybe around winter break, I could. I hate it here. I honestly couldn't care less if this school has the best ivy league team around. It's kind of aggravating to hear the assistant principal brag about the school's high standards and prestigious morals. _

_For the record, I actually _have _made friends, and haven't scared them all off, thank you. There's this one kid named Caspar who seems pretty cool, but is one of those kids who literally does everything perfectly, which is a little annoying, but he seems nice. Then there's a kid named Gavin, who's a reporter, which is cool, even though he's a little weird…I can't really put my finger on it, though. Maybe I'll send you a picture if I ever get one. I'm sure I can get him to take some pictures of the school for you, as well. The place is enormous! It took us almost two hours to do a full tour! And even though it's the beginning of the year, I'm the only new kid there. Apparently they overloaded the year before and only had room for one new kid before high school. Oh well… _

_I hope Castle Rock is doing great! Send my word to Teddy and Vern!_

_Your friend, _

_Gordie. _

Gordie smiled down at his paper, unraveling it from the typewriter and folding it up, then reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out an envelope, pushing the letter it inside. On the front, he scrawled;

_Christopher Chambers_

_61 Apple Bury Lane_

_Castle Rock, _

_Oregon _

And then a return address in the corner;

_Gordon Lachance_

_888 Markman Street_

_Apartment 4C_

_NY_

He sighed, satisfied at his work. He sealed the front, stuck on a stamp and slid it into his backpack.

* * *

"Bye dad!" Gordie called, dismounting from the dark blue Subaru and closing the door behind him. His dad drove off without much more than a grunt. Gordie looked around. The parking lot was nearly deserted, save for a few groups of boys flocking about in the quad, goofing around and tossing a ball from person to person. He bit his lip, his mind reverting back to the unknown letter sitting in the pocket of his book bag. He sighed, hitching it up higher on his shoulder, then crossing the parking lot with bitter determination, walking under the gates and onto the outside commonplace. It was another bright, sunny day, and Gordie wasn't exactly looking forwards to being kept inside, but there wasn't much else he could do.

He jumped the front steps to the school with pep in his shiny black shoes, hopping in through the open front doors and looking about the empty front hallway. The boarding houses were bound to be around here somewhere…maybe there was a mailbox there…

"Oh, hey, Lachance!" A voice called. Gordie spun around to find Caspar moseying across the foyer, one hand in his pocket and the other on the strap of his backpack, two baseball bats sticking out of the side pockets. He lifted his one hand out in a sheepish wave, smiling and tilting his head, as a result, tipping his mop of hair to the other side of his face. Gordie smiled.

"Hey." He said in response.

"You're here early." Caspar came to stand close to Gordie; so close, even, that Gordie could pinpoint the slight smell of cologne and some kind of warm, natural musk wafting from Caspar that was something of a combination of a clean house, lemon grass, possibly aftershave and a hint of peppermint or licorice.

"Yeah." Gordie shrugged. "Have to drop of a letter. Do you guys happen to have a mailbox around here?"

Caspar nodded.

"Of course." He said. "It's near the dorms. You would know where that is, right?"

Gordie shook his head, even though he had a vague idea. The pink-lemonade-fizz feeling was filling up his stomach and clogging his brain.

"No. I'm not boarding here." He told Caspar.

"Well, I know where they are." Caspar replied. "I'll take you there if you like."

Gordie smiled.

"Sounds good."

* * *

The boarding houses were all the way on the far side of the school. Gordie didn't talk much to Caspar as they walked, just thought. He thought about what was happening to him, what he was feeling. He couldn't quite pinpoint it. But when he looked over at Caspar, it was something different. He couldn't really explain what it was. He was so attractive to the eyes, the way his nose sloped and then turned upwards, how his freckles flushed just above the cheekbone, how his chin jutted just a little, and his jawline was prominent, but still soft with the touch of childhood that he was about to lose as he neared closer and closer to the end of puberty. How his voice kept at a steady rate, medium-low in his throat, not scraggly and cracked like Gordie's. Caspar's serenity reminded Gordie so much of Chris, even if Caspar was more of the happy-go-lucky type and Chris was the troubled boy always with an eye on the light that was bound to appear at the end of his dark and abusive tunnel someday. But they were both wise, pained with something not precisely visible to the human eye. Gordie already knew what Chris's trouble was; it was obvious enough once you got a good look at his bruised up arms and legs and unexplained socked eyes after his father had been out on a drinking rampage. Caspar, however, was harder to unravel; less obvious, less intense, and less illegal, but still something buried deep in his chest. And the way that he allowed himself to talk to the new boy instead of hanging out with anybody he ever wanted to, well, that showed something about him that reflected Chris in Caspar even more greatly; a kind soul that cared more for his own well-being of others than himself, although wasn't afraid to take a stand when something wasn't right in his own life. Two gorgeous, golden haired boys, in two separate worlds, but both with a dirty secret, a well-meaning heart and a wise mind.

"Who's the letter for?" Caspar asked finally, looking over at Gordie, and then ahead again.

"Oh…" Gordie thought. "A friend."

Caspar laughed.

"Don't you have a mailbox near your house?" He asked. Gordie cringed.

"I do…" He paused, thinking. "I do, but my dad really doesn't want me contacting this person right now."

Caspar laughed again, looking Gordie over with a new light.

"Wouldn't take you for the rebellious type." He said, then turned his head back to face frontwards. "But, hey, first impressions are almost almost wrong."

Gordie shrugged.

"But he-or she-is your friend, right?" Caspar pressed. "So why isn't your dad letting you talk to them?"

"He just has a grudge on him." Gordie explained simply, then added under his breath. "Probably because he's nothing like my brother's friends were."

"Awe, that sucks, man." Caspar empathized. "Hey, I've got uptight parents, too. That's probably why I don't live with them."

"Really?" Gordie asked, gathering all these small tidbits of information about Caspar up in his head. "So where do you live?"

"Here." Caspar gesturing around the long enclosed bridge crossing from the school to the boarding houses. "Well, not here, on the bridge, but at the school. I honestly prefer it better than my parent's house, but it wasn't exactly my decision. Besides, there was an uneven number for kids in the boarding houses, so I get to room alone."

Gordie nodded.

"Good deal." He admitted. "Why don't you want to stay at your parents'?"

"Dunno." Caspar admitted, shrugging. "The real question is, what did that kid do that made your dad not let you talk to him?"

Gordie sighed as the stepped off the bridge and into the boarding houses. The place was a big, old building with two pairs of stairs heading downstairs to a commonplace. The boys began to descend the stairs, Gordie beginning to speak hesitantly as they did.

"He stole some milk money at school once, and is just a downright bad kid, I guess…" Gordie thought for a moment. "Well, no, he's not. His family is. His brother's part of this gang of guys that we hate, but that barely has anything to do with him. He's always been my best friend, but now that I'm here, my dad took the opportunity to cut the ties completely…" Gordie gave a 'what can we do' face out to the world.

Caspar sighed.

"I hate parents." He muttered. Gordie nodded in agreement as then dismounted the stairs and Caspar lead him down a hallway branching off from the commonplace.

"The mailboxes should be right around here…" Caspar muttered, turning a corner. "I don't really go down here that much, but-"

It was then when they heard the scream. It was muffled at first, shot out from a few doors down in the long, winding tunnel-like corridor the boys walked upon. It sounded like that of a male voice, but of a younger one, crackled with fear and the transition to deeper vocal ranges combined. Caspar and Gordie exchanged glances. Gordie spoke quickly.

"Do you think we should-"

"You bet." Caspar replied, and the two shot down the corridor in the direction of the voices.

"You're gunna pay for this, kid!" Someone yelled, an older or more mature boy with a deep, gruff voice and a heavy tone. Gordie gulped as they slowed in front of a flimsy yellow-painted wood door. The voices seemed to be emitting from there. The younger screeched again.

"No!" He yelped. "No, please! I didn't mean to, I swear! I just-"

"Shut it! Your ass is grass!"

Caspar placed a pale hand over the doorknob, looking Gordie dead in the eyes. Instantly, the world began to spin, and Gordie was locked in the moment, looking into Caspar's deep silver, moon-toned, galaxy eyes with determination and concern. There could be anything beyond the door, but if Caspar had courage, Gordie should too.

So he let him turn the handle.

The door flung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Caspar looked straight ahead, his fists at the ready. Gordie tried to do the same, but untimely gave up and let his balled hands fall to his side. In front of them, a large, beefy boy of the Gordie's age or a bit older stood in an empty storage room, one hand pinning a squeamish, young kid against the wall, his eyes coated in fear while the beefy boy's were coated in mean, threatening anger. But now, as his head turned to Caspar and Gordie, he looked more more confused, which was soon replaced to mockery. The kid made to run out of the room, but the boy caught him by the collar. He cried out, a feeble squeak in the back of his throat, but no more.

"Awe look." He said in a mocking voice. "It's Caspar the friendly ghost!" Caspar tensed. "And the new kid from the boring capital of the world." Gordie almost laughed at this; the truth was inevitable. He smirked to suppressed a snort.

"What, you think that's funny?" The boy demanded, taking a step closer. Gordie wiped his face. "That's better."

"What the hell are you doing, Arthur?" Caspar demanded with pity.

"The kid tried to take my lunch money!" The boy, apparently Arthur, answered sweetly. "I was just trying to get it back!"

Caspar gave him a look.

"Really?" He asked. "_That _tried to take your lunch money? Come on, man, just let him go before he goes and tells his mom."

"What you gunna do?" Arthur asked. "Fight me?" He scoffed. "I don't want to relive 6th grade all over again, D'Anthony. I really don't feel like," he laughed, "_accidentally _shutting your arm in a car door. You wouldn't want that to happen again, would you? So why don't you take your little new kid to do whatever you assholes were doing and get your good-do-er asses out of here and let me finish what I started. Alright?"

Caspar advanced on Arthur, Gordie watching tensely from the door frame.

"I'm bigger than 6th grade, Kastler." Caspar admitted. "I can leave you with a pretty good black eye and a suspension if you don't leave the kid alone."

"Alright." Arthur tilted his head. "How about I let the kid go, but only if you let me have my fight. I'm interested. _Can _you sock me in the eye? Or are you as good a liar as you were in 6th grade too?"

Caspar gulped.

"Let's find out." He said. Arthur put the kid aside, who whimpered, but obliged. In a moment, he had swung his first punch at Arthur, who was unprepared and got himself a painful-sounding _thwack _right across the cheek. Surprised, the burly kid bounced back, a shocked look on his face.

"You're sure a better puncher than 6th grade, I'll give you that." Arthur admitted cockily. "But you didn't get me yet."

Powered by a surge of energy and maddening rage, Caspar swung another punch, which Arthur ducked, sending Caspar around in a circle. Arthur grabbed him around the waist, punching his fist into Caspar's stomach from behind. Gordie's friend slid to the ground in agony, clutching his midsection. Gordie stared at Caspar, open-mouthed and shocked, then back at Arthur, who looked just as pleased as a kid finding that he had gotten all As on his report card and had put the minimum effort possible to doing so.

"Woah, man, are you okay?" Gordie said quickly after the shock faded, running to Caspar's aid, and crouching down next to him. He clutched his stomach, but managed a smile and a thumbs up.

"Fine!" He croaked. "I'm good."

"What the hell did you do to him, man?" Gordie demanded of Arthur.

"Nothing to far from what he deserved." The larger boy replied, shrugging. "He walked in on my fight. It was only a price to pay."

Gordie glared at him. Caspar cowered.

"You think this is how to deal with that?!" Gordie yelled in a dark voice.

Arthur grinned with surprise, taken aback by Gordie's uncharacteristically serious tone.

"Woah, it's okay, New Kid," He said through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want anyone hearing, would you?"

"Just let the kid go and get out." Gordie growled. Arthur just laughed.

"No…" He said matter-of-fact-ly. "It's my fight. I can do what I want with it, and I say you get out and take blondie with you!"

"What if I make it my fight, then?" Gordie questioned, feeling a surge of energy. His fists balled, and for a moment, he was transported back to that day back on his last days of the summer before 6th grade, when him and Chris and Teddy and Vern were faced with the infamous Ace Merrill, Gordie holding a gun up to his face and growling 'Suck my fat one you cheap dime store hood' through his teeth.

Arthur scoffed.

"Is that a _threat_?" He laughed, looking Gordie up and down. Gordie's blood pounded.

"Yeah." He tilted his head. "Yeah, yeah it is."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking Gordie over skeptically.

"You don't look like a fighter…" He admitted. Gordie's chest surged, a wave overcoming his mind. All he could see was Arthur's smug face surrounded by a blur of a room. Without even commanding himself, his fist shot out, planting a straight punch right in the boy's gut. Arthur let out a thick grunt, stumbling backwards. His anger faded, and he saw clear again; his opponent's face was filled with complete shock. Gordie smirked.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Gordie said nonchalantly, bending down and beginning to help Caspar up from the ground. "I'd best be going. Have a nice day!"

"Not so fast, asshole!" Arthur yelled, running over and grabbing Gordie around the waist. Gordie shrieked involuntarily, struggling to get away, but Arthur was stronger than expected. He dragged Gordie away from Caspar, who laid limply on the floor, half sitting up and watching with horror. With the strength of four bulls, the bully slammed Gordie up against the wall in the corner of the room, surprisingly close to the little boy, who shrieked and ran for the open door. Still holding Gordie down with one arm, Arthur grabbed the boy with the other and pulled him close.

"Better not tell anyone, you little bastard." He hissed, then released him, watching the kid as he scurried for the door. He turned back to Gordie.

"Don't mess with me, New Kid." He growled.

"Come on, man, let's settle this like normal people!" Gordie squeaked, watching as Arthur admired his beefy fists, licking his knuckles so that it would sting when they hit him. Gordie cringed, his stomach churning, almost squeezing his eyes shut, but opening them at the last second. He couldn't cower away from this. He couldn't start his second day at Huntington with a punch to the face and a reputation of a wimp.

Gordie quickly assessed his surroundings. The kid had left, which meant two things; either he would come with help soon, or he would chicken out and, ultimately, this was the last Gordie would see of the light of day. He looked around. Caspar had collapsed almost entirely on the ground, his chest heaving; Arthur had surrounded him with his beefy frame, encasing him like a tiger in a carnival tent, smiling evilly down on him. There wasn't any way around him…but there was a way through him. Gordie spied the small parting in between his legs. He was skinny enough to fit through it, and then he could flip around and pin him up…

"Say goodbye…" Gordie heard Arthur growl. This was his chance. As his enemy threw his punch, Gordie dove through the space between his legs, jumping up and catching Arthur by surprise. In one swift movement, he spun around, placing one hand on the boy's chest and slamming him into the corner. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes were filled with surprise and…was that fear? No. Gordie shook his head. He threw a punch, socking him straight in the eye.

"Agh!" Arthur cried, sinking to the ground, clutching at his skull with chubby fingers.

"You wanted a black eye?" He asked the boy on the ground. "You got a black-"

"Excuse me!" A voice cried. Gordie, Arthur and Caspar each in turn swiveled their heads around towards the door. Gordie's stomach dropped. There stood Ms. Graves, one hand on the little boy's shoulder, her eyes narrowed with shock. "What exactly is going on here!?" Her mouth hung open. Next to her, a man in a janitor uniform stood, watching and judging.

"Ms, I'm so sorry!" Gordie blurted quickly, stepping away from Arthur as if he suddenly had become a puddle of acid. "It's-it's not what it looks like!"

She pursed her lips, frowning.

"Oh, I'm sure this is exactly what it looks like." She said. Her eyes wandered, catching Caspar. Her mouth opened. "What happened to him?!" She demanded, coming over to kneel next to the injured boy.

"I-I can explain…" Gordie muttered. She glared at him.

"I hope you can." She growled, turning to the janitor. "Mr. Price, get D'Anthony up to the infirmary." She turned her head to Gordie and Arthur, who had made a quick recovery and was now standing side to side with Gordie, the tender-red area around his eye socket beginning to bruise up in black and blue. "I'll deal with these two."

The janitor nodded curtly, trading places with the assistant principal, who stood, eyes flashing, and began to advance on the boys. Gordie leaned around her, watching as Mr. Price helped Caspar limp out of the room, doubled over and clutching his gut as he did.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Gordie murmured to himself.

"He's not as bad as me!" Arthur hissed back. "My eye is going to bruise up right when we get our pictures taken! Nice going, you wet end-"

"Mr. Kastler!" Ms. Price yelped to shut him up. Arthur rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth. "You boys had better explain what happened and keep your stories straight or there will be serious consequences, do you understand?"

_Damn…_ Gordie mused. _She doesn't play around…_

"Our school has very high standards, and if Mr. D'Anthony has any serious damage done, there will be prices to pay and a reputation to clean up for this entire school. Understand that these actions will not go un noticed. Is that clear?"

Gordie gulped, then nodded. Arthur did the same.

"Wonderful. Then I'll be seeing the both of you in Headmaster Anderson's office in ten minutes sharp. Chop chop, boys!" And with that, she was gone.

Arthur turned to Gordie.

"Nice _fucking going _Lachance! Thanks to you, I've got a black eye _and _I'm gunna get my ass whooped by Anderson! That guys a demon, and best you believe that he ain't going to take any mercy on you neither. Mark my words, kid!" Arthur gave Gordie a glare, then stormed out of the room. Shocked, Gordie stood for a few moments, then took after the other boy.

"Woah, what's so bad about Anderson?" Gordie asked feebly, matching just a few paces behind Arthur. "My dad met him-"

"Dads are a different story!" Arthur blurted, spinning around and coming to face Gordie, pointing a finger at his face. "With dads, he's all nice and funny and talks about sports and the next Giants game….But with kids?" Arthur laughed with pity. "No. That guy is insane, I swear, I mean, he can be nice, but if one kid steps one foot out of line…" He shook his head. "Heard of this one kid…Parker or something…He set a firecracker off the high school roof. Got sent to Anderson's; he was never the same again; not in school, I mean. He walked the halls like a living corpse-I'm not kidding." He laughed again, putting a hand on his forehead. "I'm not kidding…Couldn't even walk past the guy's office without screaming."

Gordie gave him a look.

"I'm serious!" Arthur shrieked, his voice cracking. "Look, you'd better not say anything that's gunna get me in trouble; least you want to end up like D'Anthony." He smirked, a face that sent shivers down Gordie's spine, and continued to walk.


	5. Lies or Pride

**New chapter and a short opening note from me because it's late and I'm tired and want to go to bed now, yay!**

**Lov, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

"This is the last straw, Mr. Kastler! You have wreaked havoc amongst the students of this school for the last time! Do you understand me? You're two strikes up, _as far as I even know_! _Don't _let there be a third!"

Gordie breathed heavily in and out, rubbing the top of his upper thighs to warm them from the goosebumps of fear pushing up through his skin. Arthur had been in there for exactly thirty-six minutes, and his meeting hadn't gotten any better. It was now that Gordie feared for his life.

Inside the room, the principal's voice softened to a low mutter, so much that Gordie had to strain his ears and lean a little closer to the door to his office if he wanted to hear (which he wasn't exactly sure that he did).

"What am I going to do with you?" Headmaster Anderson said with an edge. "You get expelled from school to school and we are the only ones that take you in? Think of your dear mother and father, Mr. Kastler. Would they have wanted it this way?"

Arthur murmured something so quietly that Gordie couldn't hear.

"I asked you a question!" The Headmaster yelled suddenly. Gordie jumped. Arthur whimpered. "Would your dearly deceased parents have wanted it this way? Huh?!" He sighed, and something slammed. "Get out, you little punk. This is going on your record, mark my words."

"Y-yes sir." Arthur said quietly.

"And send Lachance in!" He yelled in a final goodbye. Gordie stiffened, listening as Arthur scurried towards the door. The entrance to the Headmaster's office opened, and the boy appeared, holding a block of melting ice to his now blackened eye. Gordie stood up.

"You're gunna pay for this, Lachance." He growled, attempting to slam the door, but Gordie caught it. His eyes lighting, Arthur added in a last attempt, "Headmaster wants you in. Get ready…"

Gordie gulped, holding firm to the door frame, willing his feet to move forwards, but at the same time willing them to run away. What laid behind that door, Gordie didn't know, but if Arthur and the children before him was any example, Gordie got a pretty good-or bad-idea.

"Come inside, Gordon." A calm, tired, grainy voice of an older man called from inside the room. "You'll let a draft in."

Gordie gulped again, curling his fingers around the wood of the door before taking a step inside, closing the door softly behind him. He looked around the room. Matching the rest of the school, the office was old-fashioned looking, high ceilings made of dark wood panelling that lead all the way down the walls and across the floor. The room was circular and not as large as Gordie had expected. The ceiling, slanted at the top, were lofty and inhabited by spider webs across the rafters. Bookshelves piled high with yearbooks and twelve different sets of dictionaries and encyclopedias and all kinds of phonebooks for parental contact lined the walls all the ten feet up to the top, a sliding ladder attached so that one could reach each one of the beautiful books. A single standard-rectangle window with the shades drawn stood across from the door, a large desk with two chairs in front of at the head of the room. The desk was very simply decorated-a stack of books on top of which sat an old-looking telephone with the frayed cable trailing across the ground, a pot of various pens and pencils, a pile of important-looking documents and letters, a yellow-tinted legal pad filled with chicken scratch notes and a cracked white vase adorn with a pair of wilting red roses. There, at the head of the desk, sat the Headmaster.

Headmaster Anderson was much less intimidating than Gordie would have thought. He mostly looked just tired. His greying, balding hair was losing it's gusto, wrinkles sagging his face downwards, the bags under his eyes darkening. His eyes were a glazed-over blue, but at the moment were not visible, as the were turned downwards towards the top of his desk, his head resting on his folded hands, elbows propped up on the desktop. Gordie stood silently in the doorway, watching.

"Sit." The headmaster ordered suddenly, lifting one hand listlessly to motion towards the chair in front of him. Gordie hesitated, then did as he was told, crossing the room as quietly as possible to sit in the creaky grey padded seat, his footsteps plink-plunking on the noisy old wood. He sat, watching his hands, and then the headmaster, and then his hands again.

Anderson sighed, placed his hands on the desk and sitting up, his back straight against the back of his big arm chair and his thick palms interlaced over the legal pad menacingly.

"So," he said quietly, studying Gordie, who attempted to study him back, but ended up just staring at the surface of his striped tie. He looked like a man who was usually put together, but just not on this particular day. His white shirt was wrinkly and was in desperate need of ironing, his jacket was covered in cat hair and lint and his tie was too loose and flopped over his chest like a lump of striped blue and robin's-egg spaghetti. _I could fix all that, _Gordie thought, _If he would let me…_

"So, I heard that you gave Mr. Kastler a black eye?" Headmaster Anderson said calmly. Gordie shivered, as if it was cold in the actually uncomfortably hot room.

"Yes sir." Gordie said quietly. "But it was for good reason, sir, if you would just let me-"

"No need to speak, please, Mr. Lachance." The Headmaster said calmly, holding up a hand. Gordie lowered himself in his seat. "I wasn't done yet."

Gordie nodded, his face reddening, bated breath plaguing his chest.

"I have to say," Anderson continued. "I wouldn't take you for the type of boy to become violent, but first impressions are almost always entirely wrong." He chuckled, smiling a little. Gordie laughed nervously.

"I wouldn't have taken myself to be the violent type as well, to be honest." Gordie replied with a shrug. The headmaster nodded.

"May I ask, what compelled you to do such an act? Mr. Kastler informs me that he was provoked when you misinterpreted a conversation with him and another student, which resulted in him injuring Mr. D'Anthony, and such and such. What is your take on this?"

Gordie thought for a moment, sitting on his hands to keep himself from fiddling with his uncomfortable tie and jacket, thus showing signs of weakness.

"I…I…" be bit his lip, "Caspar and I were going to drop off a letter in the mailboxes and…" He took a deep breath. He was going to hate himself for the rest of his life for this… "And we heard some noises so we went into that room and I guess I thought he was hurting this kid so I kind of threatened him and we got in a fight…Caspar got in the middle, and he accidentally got hurt…I socked Arthur, and that kid freaked out and went to get Ms. Graves. I'm sorry, sir. I guess I kind of provoked him. It was my fault. Self defense."

Headmaster Anderson just looked shocked.

"Are…" he stammered, "Are you sure that's what happened?"

Gordie hesitated for a moment.

"Positive." He replied quietly.

The Headmaster looked at him for a while.

"Well, then, Mr. Lachance," he said quietly. "I am very disappointed."

Gordie felt his heart sink.

"You are dismissed."

"Yes sir." Gordie said after a moment's hesitation, getting up from his seat. "Thank you, sir."

He crossed the room silently, placing his hand on the cold doorknob.

"And Gordon?" The Headmaster's voice called. Gordie turned.

"Yeah?" He asked, not feeling like being polite. He as tired and disappointed in himself and everyone else around him.

"You don't have to be afraid to tell the truth." Anderson said quietly. "Lies aren't tolerated at this school, and I don't seem to understand why you would be doing so to protect someone who has done nothing for you. You have nothing to prove. Remember that. What you did was a noble deed, and you should be proud. Good day."


	6. Dreamy-Eyed Hero

**I love meeting SBM fans in the oddest places...**

**-Tommy**

* * *

"Smile!"

Gordie squinted as a camera flashbulb went off in front of his eyes. Blinking away purple stains on his irises, he peered over to look at the owner of the shiny black mechanism. Gavin stood behind it, smiling a bright smile, his eyes lustrous and full of excitement.

"I want to hear everything. What happened?" He asked right off the bat, shoving the camera away and pulling out a black notepad and pen. Gordie, still in shock from the sudden picture, processed what his friend was saying, thinking about what Headmaster Anderson had just said to him. Was it true, or was it teacherly bullshit? He might never know, but the words were now stuck in his head, revolving around his thoughts like a mobile over a child's crib.

"Huh?" Gordie muttered dumbly.

"What happened? I heard about the fight. This is big news. I'm doing a story on it ASAP."

Gordie tilted his head at him.

"Why?" He asked without much more knowledge than before. Gavin rolled his eyes.

"Because, I need answers, and so does the school! Who is this new Gordon Lachance and what has be done with that shy, timid new kid."

"_What…?" _Gordie asked again. He was beginning to feel like a broken record. _Huh, why, what, _all in a circle. If only Gavin would slow down and give him some time to think.

"You just gave _Arthur Kastler _a _black eye. No one _gives Arthur Kastler an _anything _unless it's your out of class pass when you're pinned up against the lockers by your collar." Gavin grinned at his quick storytelling. "So tell me. How'd you do it?" He readied his pen. "Uh…" Gordie thought for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, I mean, it was pretty easy…I kind of just swung and then…" He punched his palm.

Gavin laughed.

"Candid answer. Good. I'll take that." He scribbled something down in his notebook. "What else? Did he cry? Did he beg for mercy? What about Caspar? What happened to him?"

Gordie shook his head.

"I don't know, he kind of got hurt and then I got mad and punched Kastler. Nothing big, _I_ think…" Gavin looked agog.

"_Nothing big _is like saying that the first battle into a war is just a little play fighting amongst siblings. This is huge, man! Nobody has ever stood up to him like that before!"

"…And?" Gordie asked. He knew he was being rude, but he was beginning to highly regret shying away from the truth in his meeting with Anderson. Gordie pushed past the reporter, beginning to exit the main office and into the first floor hallway.

"_And!? _You even have to _ask_?" Gavin laughed, shaking his head, galloping to catch up with Gordie. "You're a legend, Lachance! A goddamn 8th grade _hero! _Now spill."

Gordie stopped short, thinking about the word. _Hero. _It sounded so fresh, so new. Gordie had never been called that before. More like _special, creative _and _different. Sweet, caring _or _nice. _But _hero? _Never.

Gordie smiled.

"I don't know…" He said, still smiling, looking forwards and out at the big blue stained glass window in front of him. "Kastler is kind of like a big fat baby who thinks he can get everything he wants because his parents were too scared to tell him no since they were afraid he'd throw a tantrum. I'm guessing that if someone came in and told that baby _no _every time, and ignored him, he'd kind of…right himself. So I think, if people like Kastler are like big spoiled babies, maybe one of us has to say no to him and not be afraid of his tantrums."

Gavin smiled, which grew into a grin as he dotted the end of the sentence, word-for-word copying what Gordie was saying.

"Woah…" Gavin shook his head, impressed and astonished with Gordie's words. "…That was…_fantastic_. You're a genius. This is gold. Can I get your consent that this can go in the paper?"

Gordie shrugged.

"Sure, why not?" He said, although his heart knew _why not. _

"Great. Thank you _so_ much." Gavin grinned again before setting off, adjusting his cap and heading towards the infirmary to question Caspar.

* * *

**_8th Grade Hero Gordie Lachance Brings Justice to the Halls of Huntington Prep_**

_A few days ago, you wouldn't know his name. Gordon Lachance. The only new kid in the entire 8th grade. But on only the second day of the school year, he made himself known to many, and by the third he was known to all. Gordie. The boy who brought justice to the social hierarchy system of Huntington Prep. Names will remain unsaid, but after a fight went down with said savior and another unlikely opponent, Gordie came out on top. With great power comes great responsibility, it was said, and Gordie wields it well. When asked for words of wisdom, the dreamy fourteen-year-old replies simply; "I don't know…Eric* is kind of like a big fat baby who thinks he can get everything he wants because his parents were too scared to tell him no since they were afraid he'd throw a tantrum. I'm guessing that if someone came in and told that baby no every time, and ignored him, he'd kind of…right himself. So I think, if people like Eric are like big spoiled babies, maybe one of us has to say no to him and not be afraid of his tantrums." _

_So who is this small-town boy? We may never know. The young, dow-eyed student wouldn't spill much. Other than stating that throwing the punch easier than you would think, he stays firm on not speaking too badly of the boy he fought against. A good philosophy; the mark of a caring person, even if he just fist fought with another. And how did this bookish writer come to have his name known all around Huntington Prep in less than a week? It appears that Gordie himself didn't even know his secret, but the determination to find out is strong. _

_However, our great hero is not without marring. His past is a jumble, his noble heart not without scars. Among the death of his mother and brother, and leaving his friends behind in the tiny town of Castle Rock to come to New York, there seem to be other kinds of hardships in his life that remain unspoken of. Mysterious? Yes. Intriguing? Absolutely. _

_We have only questions for the great Gordon Lachance, but know that he will continue on to do great things in the years to come. For the Huntington Press, this is Gavin Maccaffer, giving our new student a hefty HP welcome! We know you will love it here. _

_*Name has been changed._

* * *

Gordie looked over the top of the magazine and out at Gavin sitting across the lunch table. His radiant smile was flashing, his eyes buzzing with delight.

"Well?" He asked eagerly as Gordie set down the newspaper and sipped at his water.

"Well…" Gordie said through the clear plastic straw between his teeth, examining the lengthy story with a critical eye. "You described me as a hero, dreamy, doe-eyed, a caring person, a bookish writer, intriguing and _mysterious, _as well as other things…" He laughed.

"What!?" Gavin exclaimed. "It's the truth!"

"I'm dreamy?" Gordie raised an eyebrow. Gavin went red.

"I write for the paper, not for myself…" He half muttered, hiding his blushing face under the brim of his cap.

"Well, I think it's brilliant." Gordie slapped the table to confirm the statement. Gavin looked up.

"Really?" He asked sincerely, grinning.

"Well, yeah!" Gordie shrugged, pointing at the article. "I mean, you made me sound like freaking Superman, but yeah! You're a great writer, man! Really great, actually."

Gavin blushed, more in his cheeks than a hot flame over his whole face his time.

"Thanks." He said softly, adjusting his collar and making to get up. He whipped the paper out from under Gordie's arm. "I've gotta get to class. See you later!" And he was off.

'_Not if I see you first…' _Gordie almost said back as he watched his friend go, but caught himself, a wave of something like hot nausea coming over him. What was he doing?

* * *

**Yay! Did you guys like the touch of the article in it? It took me a while to write it because it was really tedious for me, but eh. I got it done. Review plz, yay! **


	7. L'Enterrment

**Excited for this chapter but not excited for the nonexistent amount of reviews oh well love you whoever is reading this 3**

**-Tommytomtom**

* * *

Gordie held his breath. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry…

But there it lay. A dark, hard box with a body inside. He wasn't going to cry…

Nobody was there yet. It was only him and the church. Summer air wafted from the graveyard and inside, whistling bells across his ears. Gordie ran a hand through his hair, wanting to approach the box with the body but feeling as if he couldn't. He just looked, willing himself, wanting himself, not to cry.

His feet were stuck, plastered to the ground as if they were nailed there. He took one painful step forwards, and then another, cringing at the sound of his dress shoes plunking on the ground. They carried him like a never ending carnival ride of family death towards the casket, the dark box with a body inside. A dead body. It looked so menacing, but the person inside was someone he knew so well. How could that be menacing? He didn't know. It was only the knowledge of what he did. Or what he thought he did.

He had told himself not to write those things. But she had read them and she had left the house and she had gotten hit by a fucking car. He had promised himself that those feelings weren't real, told himself he hid that book well enough, but he never learned, and she had found it and now she was dead.

Gordie peered over the lip of the coffin. She was beautiful still, her face peaceful and pale. Gordie recognized her, saw her in himself, in Denny, and even in his father sometimes. Quiet, unassuming.

What had he done? Why had she left, with such knowledge in her mind. He should never had written in the journal, written what he was feeling, what he was thinking. It wasn't like he _was _one. It was just a pull, a quiet thought in his mind when Chris bumped his arm or looked into his eyes or smiled. It was something in the back of his mind that did the same thing it was doing now with Caspar; pink-lemonade fuzz in the pit of his stomach. An involuntary grin. A giddy tingle over the pads of his fingers. Foot-asleep prickle that didn't feel half bad. What it was, he could only guess, but he had written it down, because that was what he did, and she had found it and left and gotten hit. Nobody knew. But Gordie got the idea when he saw the page open in the banged-up notebook that was sprawled uselessly across the floor. He knew immediately.

He had killed her. All those secrets in her mind that she knew. How could he do this to her? He was ever so wrong to think that this wasn't his fault. If he was what he thought he was, nothing would ever be the same. But he wasn't, and he knew that. He was only fourteen…only fourteen…

He cried.

* * *

"Gordie, get in here!"

Gordie sighed, placing his pencil down on top of his maths homework and raised his head to shout at the closed door.

"What?" He called back, his tone more agitated than he had intended it to be.

"Commere!" Mr. Lachance called back. "I need to talk to you!"

Gordie groaned. Whatever it was, he didn't need any sort of talking to from his dad. Nonetheless, he stood, treaded across the room, dragging his feet over the dirty carpet, exited through the door and proceeded to step into the kitchen. There his father sat, his reading glasses perched on the brim of his straight nose. He looked up, his eyes tired but flashing with the glaze over of four cups of coffee in one sitting. His dad had been working since they got to New York nonstop, so much that his daily caffeine intake had increased by nearly three cups and the bags under his eyes had darkened just as many shades. A newspaper sat facedown on the dirty tabletop. His dad was never good at cleaning...

"Who's Gavin Maccaffer?" Mr. Lachance questioned as Gordie stood at the ready in front of him. Gordie shifted from foot to foot.

"A friend." He replied honestly.

"So you know him?" He asked. Gordie nodded as Mr. Lachance flipped over the newspaper.

"Yes sir."

"Well, he did a damn good job of writing about you, son." He said, handing the news paper over. Gordie took it, his eyes skimming over the front page story. "You mean to tell me you made the school paper and you didn't tell me?"

Gordie's fingers curled around the ink-smelling paper.

"Umm…" He thought. "I don't know, it kinda wasn't a big deal…"

"Well, I think it _is _a big deal." Mr. Lachance replied calmly, taking the paper back. "Good work, son. This is the sort of thing I'd like to be seeing in you. I knew you'd be beefing up soon enough. Let's just see you join some teams and keep your grades up and I think this year is going to go well." He smiled for the first time in a while at his son. Gordie smiled back.

"Thanks, dad." He said with a thin grin.

"I'm proud of you, Gordie." Mr. Lachance said softly, no longer smiling, but looking at him with a thoughtful once-over. "You've gotten strong. Look at those biceps…" He mused to his son. Gordie smiled. His father was never exactly _proud _of him. Many things he was, but never proud. It was something new, something different. Gordie didn't know if he liked it or not, but maybe it was because he just didn't know it so well as the stone hard, distant father he had been living with all his life. And since his mother's passing, this didn't seem like the kind of thing his dad would _ever _do, but here he was, admiring his muscles that he had barely even know he had; it was true though, Gordie soon realized after he had left the kitchen and stood in front of the full length mirror in his all-white room again. Normally, he would look flat, 2D against the plain background of whitewash paint. He looked different than he did the summer before 6th grade. He had established muscle over his normally lanky arms and legs and his usually completely flat abdominal area. He was taller, beefier, he saw now. Stronger. Even his hands had grown. He looked less like Bambi and more like a buck. Possibly. But he was no Caspar, even if he was, he had recently realized, a few inches taller than him. Gordie tried to smile at himself in the mirror, but it came out pained and strange. He dropped the smile, passing a tongue over his white teeth in trial. He messed up his hair, looked at himself again, fixed his shirt, but eventually shook his head and went back to his homework.

* * *

**If anyone is confused, 'l'enterrment' means 'the funeral' in French :)**


	8. Girls and Baseball

**YAS new chapter. I'm really feeling like after this is done, I'm going to make it into a real novel; like change around the names and stuff. Could I even make a movie? Idk what do you guys think. I think filmmaking could be really cool and I could convince my mum and dad to get me the right stuff if I did like a superawesome powerpoint pitch...**

**idk ilysm**

**-Tommy**

* * *

"I'm thinking about doing a followup story, you know?" Gavin painted a rainbow across the horizon with a swooping hand motion. "Gordon Lachance pursues other interests in life while refusing to show me his work…"

Gordie rolled his eyes, shoving Gavin.

"I just don't have anything ready yet, alright?" He said with an offhand awkwardness.

"What about that journal you write in?" Gavin pressed, poking him in the arm. "What's in there?"

Gordie gulped, looking down.

"Nothing, really." He coughed into his hand to buy himself a few seconds of spare time.

"You say nothing but you mean something." Gavin stated, which was true.

"It's kind of like…a story of my life." Gordie muttered. "But I'm not letting you read it."

"Why not!?" Gavin asked in an accusing tone. "You read all my work and I don't have any problem with that!"

"I read what you put in the paper. I doubt that's _all _of your work."

"Well, it's most of it…" Gavin muttered.

"Yo, Gordie!" A voice called. Gavin and Gordie spun around to face the called. Caspar approached, moseying over with a baseball bat being used as a walking stick. "Hey, I have to ask you something…"

"Catch you later, alright?" Gordie heard Gavin say.

"Wait-" But he was already gone. Caspar stood beside him, his eyes wide and a buzz with slight excitement.

"Hey, you know tryouts for baseball are tomorrow afternoon, right?" He asked as they continued to walk. Gordie shook his head.

"Nope, didn't know that." He replied.

"So, will you be there?" Gavin asked. Gordie shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Look, man, I've seen your arm. You're really good-"

"That was just a one time thing or something." Gordie shook his head.

"Gordie, I've been team captain for three years on that team and trust me, I know a natural when I see one."

Gordie shrugged again.

"Come onnnn…" Caspar stopped, placing a firm hand on both Gordie's shoulders. "What are you afraid of? You make it, you made it, you don't and you don't. No biggie." Gordie looked the other way. "I just said I was team captain for three years, didn't I?" Caspar looked him expectantly in the eye. Gordie squirmed under his dashing gaze. "Didn't I?"

"Yeah…" Gordie muttered, finally making eye contact.

"So I've got a good word in with the coach. You do well at tryouts and I can recommend you. He'll take my word for it." "Really?" Gordie asked sincerely.

"Yeah, man, sure." Caspar shrugged. "Not a big deal. Trust me. Look, we've got English, right?"

Gordie nodded.

"Yeah."

"We'd better go, then." Caspar looked around the empty hallway. "Class is going to start in, like, two minutes."

Gordie sighed, and nodded. A thought tugged in the back of his mind, something he desperately wanted to voice. He bit his lip, then spoke. "Hey, what's up with you and Gavin?" He asked timidly, kicking a crumpled up orange detention slip that sat discarded on the floor. "I mean, he seems kind of jumpy when he's around you, or am I wrong?"

Caspar's steps faltered, but he righted himself in a matter of seconds. Gordie could sense the stiffness in his friend now. His aura was not as calm as it once was.

"I…" Caspar whispered this, his voice suddenly horse. "Look…you have to promise not to tell anyone this because I…" He shook his head vigorously. "No, never mind."

"What?" Gordie asked, intrigued. "What is it?" He laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. "Come on, now you have to tell me." It didn't work. Caspar glared at him.

"It's not something stupid like which girl he likes, okay?" He said gravely. "I just…Sorry, Gordie, I mean, I really like you and all, but I can't tell you. I haven't told anyone. I swore…" He shook his head. "It's nasty-complicated. Just trust me that's it's at least partially sorted out and we're on good enough terms. I mean, we're both friends with you, aren't we?" He laughed, smiling, but the smile was fake, and the two of them knew it. Caspar was gone now, floating in a different universe. He wasn't anchored down, happy and smily. And it was in this moment that Gordie found another reason why he was such alike to Chris. He had something, a mightily secret. A burden over his shoulders.

And he could be trusted.

* * *

"Yo, look, man…" Caspar whispered in his ear. Gordie turned his head towards him. In the bright English classroom with the backlighting of the open window wafting summer air and summer sun, Caspar's corn-silk hair shimmered, haloed in the golden light. Gordie watched him, inches away as he spoke, but didn't hear anything. He just looked into his grey eyes and marveled at the fact that they looked like the surface of the moon…

"Huh?" Gordie asked after a few seconds, shaking his head vigorously.

"I said, look." He pointed out the window. Gordie's eyes darted over to the front of the room, but the teacher wasn't looking. "The Aston's girls are using the field…"

It was true. Gordie peered out and into the quad. A line of girls tromped over in full-on blue field hockey uniforms, sticks in hand, skirts fluttering in the wind. Ashton's was the adjoining girls school a few miles away. On days like these, their teams sometimes used Huntington's fields for their games when their's was in use.

Gordie knew exactly what Caspar wanted him to do. Watch the girls and muse about how the short skirts showed inches upon inches of exposed leg or how this one was cute or that was was hot. But Gordie felt…

He felt nothing…

"I know that one. She's Elizabeth Jackson." Caspar pointed at a pretty brunette at the head of the line. "Met her at a few dances."

"We have dances?" Gordie asked.

"Yeah, a few each year." Caspar informed him. Gordie blinked a few times, and was once again confronted with the question;

_What was he _doing?

* * *

Gordie tugged on the unfamiliar blue jersey clinging to his frame, shielding his eyes against the sun with a raised left hand. The baseball field laid ahead of him, sweltering heat radiating off the dusty ground like silken strands. A bounty of boys stood about, each in their gym uniform, some passing a ball around, others shuffling their feet awkwardly like he. Gordie looked around, trying to spot someone he knew, but didn't see anyone. He sighed, stepping onto the soil of the field. It was a hot summer, hotter, even, than in Oregon. New York, with it's cars and little trees doing nothing for the heat and the shade. The rusty-brown, chalky dirt came up in clouds underneath his sneakers. Even the fertilizer-infused green grass was crumbling in the summer weather under his shoes.

"Hey Gordie!"

Gordie looked up to see, of course, who else than, Caspar, his hair flopping over his eyes as it pressed across his forehead under the blue Huntington snapback with the school's crest of arms on the front. His face was lit up, his freckle-infected cheeks rosy from warming up around the baseball diamond. Sweat sprinkled across his forehead and hairline, his dark lashes squinting up against the blinding sun. Gordie smiled, coming forth.

"Hey." He said coolly, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"You came!" Caspar exclaimed as he came to stand near Gordie. "Glad you could make it. You nervous?"

Gordie shrugged.

"A little. Not too much." He admitted.

"Well, looks like it's going to be a pretty good year." He motioned around the field, pointing out people as he went along. "We've got Jack Simons, Mickey Dickens, and…" Caspar scowled. "We've got Kastler, but he's a pretty great pitcher…" He sighed.

"You alright from…you know…" Gordie asked him. Caspar shrugged.

"Got a pretty nasty bruise." He said, lifting up the corner of his blue jersey in dismay. Beneath a sturdy four pack of tanned stomach, a purple, blue and green-tinged bruise curled in grotesque waves under his skin. Caspar lowered his shirt. "It's alright, though. Still kind of hate him, but he's a pretty decent pitcher."

Gordie scowled at Arthur's beefy frame haunching in the distance. His thick arms beat through the air as he threw a powerful shot at a fence for practice. He cringed, listening to the sound of the spinning beige ball whizzing through the air. Gordie raised an eyebrow in surprise and slight fear.

"Oh, great…" He muttered.

"Yeah…" Caspar said in agreement, nodding. For a brief moment, with their words hanging in the open air, they watched the powerful boy in the distance, half in disgust and half in an almost envy. The silence was a quiet, nonchalant one, but it was there, and Gordie almost liked it, being able to feel the existence of another in such close proximity, thinking the same things, wondering the same things. Or, at least, almost the same things.

"D'Anthony!" A voice shouted. Both Caspar and Gordie looked up. A large, muscular and surly-seeming man with ginormous biceps and a shiny bald head stood at the edge of the field, waving at Caspar in a way to tell him to get over there. Caspar groaned.

"That's the coach." He explained quickly. "He'll be wanting me. Word to the wise, call him Coach Bentley or Coach_. _Not _mister. _Not _sir. _Make sure it's Coach Bentley. He'll freak out if it's not."

Gordie smiled a stiff smile, recalling the first time he'd said that to him. 'Word to the wise, I wouldn't wear that hat inside if I were you.'

"Will do." Gordie reassured him. Caspar grinned at him, and in an instant, me was gone.

* * *

_Thwack!_

Gordie watched in slow motion as Caspar hit the ball with the metal surface of his heavy bat, the muscles in his arms bulging, sweat flying off his skin in hot droplets. His friend watched as the baseball soared through the sky, his eyes shadowed by the visor of his snapback. Gordie followed the path of the ball, watching as it curved all the way across the field and into the sky, landing with a thunk some fifty feet away. He whistled under his breath. Caspar kind of grinned, a half smile of self-pride. Licking his dry lips in hesitation, he swiped his hair away from his eyes and went to sit back down on the benches.

"Very good, D'Anthony!" Coach Bentley exclaimed, clapping his large hands together. Gordie tugged the edge of his shirt as Caspar took his seat next to him.

"Good job." He whispered horsily.

"Thanks." Caspar replied with a smile. "Guess I could have done better. That guy was a lousy pitcher."

Gordie smiled in a laugh.

"Yeah. Weak throw, man." He agreed. Caspar nodded.

"You!" Coach called. Gordie looked up. He was pointing at him. "What's your name?"

"Gordie Lachance." Gordie answered. The Coach nodded in recognition.

"Oh, I know you." He mused. "You were in the papers last week."

Gordie nodded nonchalantly.

"That's me."

"Well, 8th Grade Hero," the Coach said. "You're up."

Gordie nodded, took a deep breath and raised himself up from his spot on the wooden bench. His chest was on fire, his legs wobbly and scared. He balled his fists.

"Good luck." Caspar said from behind him, giving him a firm clap on the back before he set off towards the dusty home plate.

"Kastler, you're up for pitcher."

Gordie froze for half a second. Did the coach just say what he thought he said? He looked back. There he was; Arthur Kastler, proceeding to rise from his seat further down the long bench. Gordie breathed in quickly, pausing and taking the time to look back at Caspar. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes beholding a mixture of horror, annoyance and rage. His dark brows furrowed between his eyes. Gordie shot him a helpless look over his shoulder, hesitating before taking another step towards the field. A step, another step, another, until he stood just in front of the plastic base. His hands hovered at his sides, staring down at the metal bat resting on top of home plate. He looked up. Arthur had already taken up his position towards the middle of the field. With hands shaking like leaves in the wind, he bent down, closing his fingers around the rubber-gripped base of the bat. He came to stand at the base, assuming the stance that he gathered was correct. It was then that he fully faced Kastler. He had a rough look about him; buzzed, light brown hair, a roundish face, thick arms and small, slim eyes that could have been blue or could have been an odd shade of green; Gordie couldn't tell. He was more focused on the set jaw of his opponent, and the fact that his hand gripped the ball so hard that his thick knuckles and pads of his fingers tuned white. Surrounding his left eye, a dark stain of a bruise curled over his face. Gordie smirked.

"At the ready…" He heard Coach Bentley call. "And…Go!"

With a steady swing of his arm, Arthur threw the ball with impressive speed, catching Gordie off guard as it flew fast through the air. Counting down the seconds until the perfect timing, Gordie corrected his stance, gripped the bat, watched the ball and swung.

_Crack! _

The metal surface his the bat made perfect contact with the ball, emitting a satisfying slap as it did, sending the ball souring across the field. Gordie shielded his eyes as he watched it go, traveling towards the sky and then defending, steadily losing air until it thunked onto the ground almost as far away as Caspar's did. He smiled to himself.

"Wow!" The Coach exclaimed. "Great job, Lachance. Didn't think you had it in you…"

Gordie grinned, beginning to step of home plate, but something stopped him.

"Wait, could we do that again?" Arthur asked in a sweet voice. "I feel like I could have gotten a little more speed into it."

"Well, I think it was fine." The Coach shrugged. "But sure, if you want. Gordie, you want to try it again?"

Skeptical, Gordie glanced at Caspar, whom he exchanged a worried glance with before turning back to and heading up the field again.

"Um, okay…" He muttered, picking up the bat again and assuming his position. He looked at Kastler, his hands shivering. A seemingly meaningless look passed over the pitcher's eyes, but to Gordie, it could mean so much more…

More powerful was the stroke of Arthur's arm this time, beating through the air, a soft slam, and then the ball was released. Gordie watched it again, as it soured, reading himself, but nothing could ready him for what came next.

He barely even registered it. Before he knew what was going on, the ball was headed straight for his face, and within a few moments, the baseball, flying full-speed, smacked against his skull. Gordie fell to the ground, dropping his bat, clutching at his eye. His vision exploded into sparks, fireworks going off in his right socket, just where it hit him.

"Gordie!" He heard someone cry out, but he couldn't hear much. Just ringing. The noises of his surrounding blended together, and his vision blurred. Someone yelled for the nurse. Beyond that, he could hear nothing.


	9. Bumps and Bruises

**This was originally part of a big chapter but I realized I should break it up into a bunch of sections so I could post so here you go, even though it's short.**

**Review, lovelys!  
-Tommy**

* * *

Gordie squinted as white light filled his vision, his world coming into focus. He groaned, the right side of his head throbbing. His vision sharpened, and the white, cracked ceiling of a room pulled in and out of his eyes. He blinked hard a few times, tenderly wiping sleep from his eyes. He felt around the part of his socket where he had been hit. The skin was puffy and swollen, hardly making room for his eye to look out of. He sat up.

"Gordie!" A voice called. Gordie looked around the room. It was a large place, all-white walls all around, windows wide open, emitting startlingly bright light, and neatly-made, unoccupied beds. His mind began to register that this was the school infirmary. At the foot of his bed, his face smiling, his hair undone in an adorably messy way, and his cap hanging off the bed post, was Gavin.

"Woah, hey." Gordie croaked. Gavin rubbed his eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. "What are you doing here?"

Gavin shrugged.

"I kind of fell asleep here…" He admitted. "I was here practically all day yesterday. Your dad came. He says hey."

Gordie sat up a little more.

"Wait, what?" He asked, shaking his head. "My dad was here? Why? And why were you here?"

Gavin shrugged again.

"Just thought I'd hang around. You were kind of unconscious…" He laughed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"And…why was my dad here?" Gordie pressed. Gavin laughed again.

"Relax, man." He said with a smile. "He's your _dad. _You kind of got hit in the head with a baseball, I mean, he's sort of obliged to come and see you."

Gordie sat back.

"Right…" He muttered. "What did he say?"

"Just saw me here. Seemed kind of surprised. Said hi. Not much. He stayed here for a few minutes, and then he left." Gavin sat up in his chair, adjusted his stance and picked up his typewriter from the floor, beginning to type as he talked. "Seemed nice enough. Kind of uptight, though. He always like that?"

Gordie shrugged defeatedly.

"Yeah, kind of." He said with a sigh. Gavin nodded, then continued to type. Gordie leaned over, trying to catch what he was writing. His friend glanced up. "What you writing there?" Gordie asked, coming to hug his knees to his chest under the covers. Gavin smiled.

"Nothing much." He said. "Another story."

"Oh, really?" Gordie asked sneekishly, his hand jutting out to try and grab at the paper. "Can I see?"

Gavin pulled back quickly, glaring at him.

"_No._" He said. "Not unless you show me anything you write. It's bad enough I can't shun you out until you do so because all my work gets published in the paper. I'm allowed to have _some _secret writing if you have any."

Gordie made a face.

"God, alright." He said. "Was just asking…"

Gavin said nothing for a few moments as Gordie watched him, his fingers typing at lightning speed across the keyboard.

"By the way, you made the team." Gavin said finally as he reached the end of the paper, removing it from the typewriter and bending over to pick out another one from his bag.

"Wait, I did?" Gordie exclaimed, his face lighting up. "Wow, crap, I didn't think I was going to, but…"

"Face it, Gordie," Gavin said with a half-smile as he threaded the next sheet into the machine. "You're going to turn out pretty well. Even _Caspar _said you were pretty good." He made a face at the name of the golden-haired captain. Gordie's eyebrows furrowed.

"Seriously, though, what happened between you and Caspar?" Gordie asked tentatively. Gavin stopped typing, staring at his sheet. "I know something happened. Caspar told me, but he didn't say what…"

"He _told _you?!" Gavin exclaimed, then quickly lowered his voice, his eyes sparking with an unknown fire. "That bastard." He put a hand on his forehead. His expression melted to a scowl.

"Hold up, so it's actually really bad?" Gordie asked, leaning forwards.

"Hell yeah, and he wasn't supposed to…" Gavin groaned. He shook his head. "Ugh, never mind."

"Noo way, man, you have to tell me." Gordie said gravely. "Caspar pushed me off, and you're my friend. I have to know!"

Gavin shook his head.

"Pleeeassseeee?" Gordie pleaded, flopping onto his stomach on the bed and grabbing Gavin's arm. His friend tried to pull back, but he held firm to his tanned forearm, the soft touch of the exposed skin against his hand. He looked up, staring him down. Gavin opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. He looked at Gordie with a dark, fixed look that held no humor. Gordie dropped his goofy smile.

"Sorry." He muttered, loosening the grip on his arm, almost feeling like he didn't _want _to let go, but he did so anyway. Gavin pulled away, hurt flashing over his face. He wet his lips awkwardly, setting his jaw. "I didn't know it was so important."

"Yeah, it kind of is _important._" Gavin scoffed, looking down at his hands resting on the keyboard. "It could mean my life and possibly Caspar's, so you'd better not ask again."

"Woah, forreal?" Gordie asked, leaning forwards again. "Look, man, have you told anyone? I mean, I don't want to impose, but at least your families should know if they don't already-"

"They _can't _know!" Gavin said loudly, raising his hands to the sides of his head before dropping them to the typewriter again. "That's the whole _point, _Gordie! _They _would _kill _us, and most definitely me! I don't even _know _Caspar's parents, and he didn't even do anything. He…" Gavin faltered, his chest heaving. He put a hand on his forehead. "He did what he was _supposed _to. What was _expected. _I just went out of the blue and blew everything up, and now we're both dead to each other." He laughed in almost-pity. "I shouldn't be afraid of myself like this, but I just feel like an ass every time I look at myself, like I'm a failure, and I know that…" He gulped heavily, wiping his eyes. Gordie leaned over, touching his arm again, but this time softer.

"Hey…" He said quietly. "Look, I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have asked. I won't say anything, you know that, right?-"

"Of course I know that!" Gavin almost yelled, but lowered his voice. Gordie lifted his hand from his friend's arm quietly. "Damn, of course I do. you're so nice and…and I know I can trust you, and I should, but…" He smiled, a little bit, looking over at Gordie again. Gordie looked at him now, his eyes a deep chocolate brown. There he was, lying on his stomach, his head up, watching this boy. Who even was he? By now, Gordie didn't even know, even if _he _meant both Gavin or himself. Tentatively, however, he smiled back.

"You don't look half bad with a black eye, Lachance." Gavin said with a half smile and a shrug. Gordie sucked in his lower lip. He laughed. "Likewise." He muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gavin laughed.

"This!" Gordie joked, faking a punch. Gavin flinched, pulling away, laughing. Gordie punched him twice, softly, in the shoulder, which were hard and stiff.

"Two for flinching." He said with a smirk. Gavin held his gaze again for a few more seconds than necessary, then removed his typewriter from his lap and placed it on the ground. He got up.

"Where are you going?" Gordie asked.

"Best get to class. I kind of came here, like, mid-day yesterday and spent a while and then fell asleep." He grinned with a tinge of embarrassment. "So I should probably make it to math on time today-if at all."

Gordie laughed.

"Of course." He said, smiling and watching as his friend shut the tabs on his hardshell typewriter case, proceeding to rise and walk away from Gordie's bed. He turned.

"You're good, Lachance." He said quietly. Gordie grinned.

"_Likewise._" He repeated in an almost whisper. With a smile, Gavin turned, and was gone. Gordie flopped down on his back, his head to the foot of the bed. He stared up at the ceiling. His smile had not yet faded, but something else was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't the Caspar-induced fizz; it was darker, more solid. A weight. And Gordie didn't like it very much.


	10. Letters

**Ah, two posts in one day at 2AM...can life get any brighter? JK it's dark as hell/my soul and i'm tired and a total wreck and my hair is so messy please send help mates**

**Love, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

Gordie gulped as he walked into the apartment. It was muskier, darker, even, than it had been when Gordie was last in it. All the windows were closed, dusty light floating idly over the room. A single black metal fan feebly circulated the air in the kitchen. Upon the table which happened to be stacks and stacks of letters.

"We should clean up…" Gordie said quietly to himself. His father proceeded to follow him into the kitchen.

"You got some letters." Mr. Lachance said quietly, disregarding Gordie's previous comment. From within the ameba of letters and papers, Mr. Lachance detached two nearly blank ones. Gordie's name and address was scrawled on the front in black ink, a stamp with a bird on it in the corner, but nothing else. He gulped.

"You've been getting any more blank letters lately?" Mr. Lachance questioned, sitting down at the table. Gordie shook his head.

"No sir." He replied as genuinely as possible.

"So, do you know who they're from?" His father pressed. Gordie shuffled his feet.

"Let me see them. Maybe I can figure it out." Gordie said with a tight smile. Snatching the letters from Mr. Lachance's grip, he investigated the handwriting as if it wasn't one he would recognize at first glance. He forced a look of light recognition over his face. "Oh, it's from Vern!" He exclaimed. Mr. Lachance gave him a skeptical look. He shoved the letters in his pocket. "Yep, that's definitely Vern. He said he would write…" He paused. "That's okay with you, right?"

"Well…" Mr. Lachance's eyes wandered. "Since you've been doing so well at Huntington, I suppose so." Gordie beamed. "So long as there's nothing from that Chamber's kid in there."

Gordie forced his smile not to fade.

"Of course, yeah." He said meekly, then hurried off to his room, glancing over his shoulder only once or twice to see if his father was watching. He slipped into the bedroom un-noticed. Once inside, he sat himself down on his bed and allowed himself to take a look at the letters. Two of them, neatly stacked, Chris's familiar scrawl across the front of them. His eyes darted back and forth around the room one last time, then tore open the lip with reckless strength, tearing part of the folded up paper inside. Gordie breathed in and out, calming in a sigh. Quietly, he lifted the paper from inside, unfolding it until it's crumpled lines ran perfectly across the paper, writing running messily up and down the page. Presently, he began to read.

_September 17, 1961_

_Dear Gordie, _

_I just got your letter today, and I have to say, it's journey here was pure luck! The lack of return address probably increased the chances if it getting lost in the mail, and then there's your father, and then mine, who is just waiting to find mail for me so he can burn it. He's on a mean streak, as usual…_

_School's recently gotten harder…They're throwing all these tests and quizzes on me, and I have to study real hard to keep up. There's advanced stuff they taught last year that I didn't get because I wasn't in the collage courses then that they expect me to learn…I'm always thinking about dropping out…God, it would be so much easier if you were here! Teddy and Vern are no help; Teddy refuses to talk to about you, and Vern is kind of sad. They both don't really like the idea of me ditching them for the collage courses, but it can't really be helped, I guess. I had to get out somehow… _

_Anyway. I'm seriously enjoying the amount of girls around in the collage courses, though. People are kind of getting a better look at me and realizing I'm not all that bad, I guess. View girls and all. Teddy hates it. He said they'll chew me up and spit me out and he's not going to be there for me when then do because 'he told me so'. Jesus Christ, he's all over the place. He can't stop smoking, and he's talking about beer and stealing stuff all the time. I swear, if he's going down a really bad path. I know I can't even pick up a beer if I want to stay straight. _

_New York sounds cool, though! I really can't wait until I see you again! Please come home soon, man. We miss you here, or at least, some of us do. _

_Your friend, _

_Chris Chambers. _

Gordie didn't let himself process what he read before he tore open the next one. Out of it, along with the letter, fell a picture. Gordie didn't dare look at it as it fell face-down on the carpet. He unfolded the paper.

_September 20, 1961_

_Dear Gordie, _

_I haven't gotten any letters back from you yet other than the first one, but it's only been three days, so I suppose I should wait. I met a bunch of new people in the collage courses now. There's a kid named Sam, Jackson and Timothy, and a girl named Molli. They're all really nice, but don't exactly get along too well with Teddy and Vern, but I guess it will have to do…I kind of feel them slipping away, man. I don't talk to them as much…it's messed up. Wish you were here. Like a lot. _

_I included a bunch of pictures. There's some of Vern and Teddy and I, and then of Jackson, Sam, Tim and Molli and me. I also got some pictures of the treehouse. I haven't been going there as much, because it's been really quiet around lately, and the amount of studying I have is killing me. _

_How is New York working for you? I heard it's really hot there. It should start cooling down around there, though, when it gets more into fall. Same here. We're all dying. _

_So, my dad left sometime last week to the bar and hasn't been back…I usually wouldn't be worrying, but this has been longer than usual. I'm sure he'll be back, and I don't exactly feel bad…I don't know. He's my dad, is all. _

_Speaking of dads, how is yours? Did you make any friends that he approves of more than your old friend Chris? I always say this, but we all really really miss you! Not much is going on anymore, so there's nothing much to say. Check out the pictures. I'm sure you'll see that absolutely nothing has changed!_

_Your friend, _

_Chris_

_PS. I forgot to mention…I really want you to meet Molli…She's kind of my girlfriend. _

Gordie's breath stopped. He stared at the last word. _Girlfriend. _He tightened the pads of his fingers around the edges of the letter, gripping until it ripped under his nails. He blinked a few times, then bit his lip, running a hand through his hair. He folded the letter, threw it across the room and put his head in his hands. A _girlfriend? _He could never even picture Chris with any girl, especially one he didn't even know. A _View _chick! What was he even thinking? Teddy was right; She'd chew him up and spit him out. Gordie just didn't know what to think. What could she be like? Was she pretty, smart, hot? He couldn't even think straight. He'd known Chris since they were kids…the thought of him being romantically involved with some girl he'd never met seemed a strangely vacant thought. Slowly, with shaking fingers and the anticipation of yearning on his mind, he reached to the floor and picked up the picture. It's glossy finish rubbed between his fingers. He flipped it over. It was a picture of Chris, Teddy and Vern, sitting cross legged in prairie of high, yellow grass and wildflowers. The sun was shining, reflecting in their hair. Teddy was giving Chris a skeptical look, who, like Vern, was smiling at the camera. A bright-colored black eyed susan flower stuck into Chris's golden hair. Gordie sighed at his friend's radiant smile, his usually short hair hair now growing longer and flopping in front of his eyes. He set the photo down, then turned the envelope upside-down, scattering a flurry of compact-sized Polaroid pictures over the bed. Tentatively, he picked each up in turn. On the first, Chris stood shoulder to shoulder, arms folded, next to three other boys. All of them were tall, wearing typical vView-kid clothing. From right to left, there was a boy with buzzed blonde hair, a thick jawline and a dark green varsity jacket covering his folded arms, a slightly shorter and less muscular boy with dark brown, floppy hair pushed away from his face with a simple run-through of his hand, an act in which he was caught midway, and a worn-down jean jacket that looked like it had been to World War 2 and back and lived to tell the tale. Next to that boy, there stood Chris, his flower still in tact, tucked behind his ear, his long hair pushed back from his lit-up, bright eyes. Compared to the others, he was nearly a head shorter, but still fit in with the gang of blue-jean-wearing collage course students. Next to Chris, last on line, was a bright looking boy with short, dark red hair and freckles across his entire face. He wore a plain tee-shirt and combat boots. The scene of the picture took place outside; the four were leaning on a large bush somewhere near the prairie where the first picture was taken. These boys, Gordie guessed, were Timothy, Jackson and Sam. Gordie sighed, setting the picture down and picking up another one. Along with the four boys stood Teddy and Vern, sitting side by side in the field. Gordie smiled. He took the next picture. In it stood Jackson, Timothy, Sam, Chris, and next to him, a girl. She was laughing, one hand draped over her head, caught in the moment, the other placed softly on Chris's shoulder. She was slim, her hands dainty and slender. Her hair was short, a little past her ears, wavy and a very dark shade of brown. Her features were soft, with a ski-slope nose and pearl-pink lips, but dark eyebrows and lashes emphasized these features. She wore a short, flowy white skirt and a fitted striped shirt. One leg was lifted slightly above the ground as she leaned on Christopher, the toe of her PF Flyers pointed towards the golden sky. She laughed, showing off white teeth, her eyes squinting in her moment. She was beautiful; Gordie wouldn't deny it. She actually seemed just the kind of girl that would strike Chris's fancy; she seemed unconventional, with an artistic air about her. A risk-taker, judging by the bold cut of her hair and length of her skirt, but not a slut. She was independent, with a strong mind and a heart creating it's own path through the light. She was _exactly _what Chris would have wanted. Every second watching the photograph, Gordie began to realize more and more how perfect Molli was for Chris; how they looked together, how they acted. He picked up the last photograph. Together, alone. They sat in the grass, Molli adorning a crown made of wildflowers over her dark hair. Her hands were busy at work with another one. Chris watched her work intently, but looked not at her hands but at her face. A feeling crept into Gordie's stomach. The way he looked at her. The way the energy passed between the two, how when the light hit them just right, you could almost see the golden glitter fly around the near atmosphere. He shook his head. How could he have ever expected less of Chris? He was bound to find a girl like this sooner or later; his little white skirt girl who makes him flower crowns that they can place onto each other's heads; his dark haired girlfriend with what might be the most gorgeous features and air about her that Gordie had ever seen. How could he have ever liked a _boy; _A _boy_ like him?


	11. Library Walls

**I haven't posted in a while, oh no! I've also gotten in a habit at posting at the strangest hours...I need to stop...**

**TBH I had so many internet friends on here before I took that long break, and now only a few have come back to read this story. I think it's better than Stand By Me a Little Longer, so IDk. Makes me sad, but I'm going to make this into a regular novel when I'm done, so I guess it's for the better. **

**XO, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

"Oh man, I think I'm failing math…" Caspar muttered, looking down at his notebook, which was lined across the page with problems upon problems of algebra. Gordie looked around the quiet study hall, and then back at his frustrated friend. His eyes squinted at the homework in front of him, exasperated as he tried time and again to figure out the jumble of numbers. His pencil eraser tapped against his lip.

"You couldn't fail math." Gordie laughed. "You're, like, the best in the class!"

"You're better." Caspar muttered. Gordie blushed. "It's just these negative and positive exponents that get me. I don't know what to do with them…"

"It's isn't that hard." Gordie reasoned. Caspar looked up at him helplessly. Gordie sighed, turning the notebook slightly towards him. "Alright, you did most of it." He investigated the problem. "Basically what you have to do is multiply the exponents together…then just carry over and turn it into a fraction. Like this." He held his hand out for the pencil. Caspar handed it over. "You just bring x to the negative fifth power to he denominator, then add a one to the top. Then it's positive. Get it?"

Caspar bit his lip, staring at the page.

"So then what do I do if it's just a negative integer?" He asked.

"You just leave it. You only make it into a fraction if it's a negative _exponent._"

"Really?" Caspar scoffed. "Well, I've been doing everything wrong. No wonder I keep getting messed up." He looked at Gordie. "Thanks, man! You're a savior."

Gordie smiled modestly.

"Math isn't really my forte…" He admitted.

"Well, you helped me!" Caspar exclaimed. "Hey, you need any help with anything? I'd return the favor if you like…"

Gordie bit his lip. _Yeah, _He thought, _I do need help. With a lot of things. Chris just got a girlfriend, and I can't even admit to myself that I'm a little jealous. I don't know who I am, I possibly killed my own mother without even knowing it, my secrets are coming back to haunt me, I lied to my dad, who's already up my ass, and I really don't know what I'm doing with my life right now. So yeah, I need help. _

"Nah, not really." Gordie said quietly. "But if you need any help, I'd be happy to tutor your or something…" He coughed. "Or whatever…"

"Woah, really?" Caspar's eyes widened. "That's actually a really good idea! I'm also a shit writer, and I've heard you're pretty good."

"Oh, really?" Gordie raised an eyebrow. "From who?"

"Around…" He gave on the offhand. "Anyway, would you? It would really mean a lot, and I could get my grades up."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Gordie shrugged. "Why not?"

"Great!" Caspar exclaimed. "So, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. Would you want to meet at the library at maybe…say six? I get out from football practice really late."

Gordie nodded.

"Yeah, sure." He said. "Sounds good. I'm not doing anything after school until baseball games start in a few weeks, so that should be okay. You sure you'll be okay after football? We could do another day if you want…"

"Nah, it's cool." Caspar shrugged. "I'm actually most motivated when I'm kind of charged after practice. Sweaty, which will probably be the biggest problem. But you don't mind a bit of sweat, do you?" Caspar grinned a funny smile, laughing.

"Not at all." Gordie shook his head. "See you tomorrow, then."

"See you."

Gordie hadn't been to the library yet. It was a large building with a dome ceiling and a wall of windows facing the high school quad. Student artwork was splayed across the place. It had two floors, with the second overlooking the first over a balcony around the edge near the window wall. Upon nearly every inch of solid wall, there stood a bookshelf; piles and piles of books, classics, research books, magazines, fiction, biographies and fantasies. Gordie watched them all as he passed, his hand running across the delicate spines, leafed in gold or embossed with the titles and authors, Dewy Decimal system breaking it down to it's finest. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell it; the smell of trees, the wood pulped and turned into paper which was printed and bound and turned into stories; legends, even. All here at his fingertips. It was almost nerve wracking, the amount of information he had at his disposal; how he could just walk up and pick out a book-any book-and instantly have the secrets of a world not his own right in the palm of his hands.

But he wasn't there right now. Another world. He was in cold reality, in which he was walking quietly across the padded floors to the table he had been sitting at, waiting for Caspar. He had been there since school ended, waiting until football let out. Checking his watch, Gordie confirmed that it was 6:07. He waited, tapping the wristband of the metal Rolex up against the wood. Nobody was around. The library, as it should be, was quiet.

"Hey!" Gordie heard a voice. He turned around in his wooden chair. Caspar approached, his blond hair, as presumed, dripping and stringy from sweat and water, golden strands falling over his face. He had changed into regular clothes; non-uniform, that is. It felt strange, seeing Caspar out of uniform and in his element; Blue jeans washing out a the knees (The kind that you had for years that you could never let go of), grey low top Converse sneakers, and a crisp green tee-shirt with a small pocket a few inches below his left shoulder.

"You are exactly seven minutes and thirty four seconds late." Gordie informed him with offhand smile.

"Sorry." Caspar laughed. "Got caught up in the locker room."

"I was kidding." Gordie rolled his eyes playfully. Caspar smiled as he sat down, swiping his hair from his eyes, which sprayed liquid across the table. Gordie cringed internally.

"Told you there would be sweat." Caspar laughed. Gordie gave him a look.

"That's all sweat?" He exclaimed in a laugh. Water dripped down Caspar's nose. "_I _was kidding." He said with a smirk. "No, it's shower water. You're safe."

"That's good." Gordie laughed. "Infectious football sweat isn't exactly my favorite hair product."

"_God _you even sound like a writer!" Caspar said, grinning at him. "_Infectious. _Could you give me your mental dictionary?"

"I really sound that dorky?" Gordie smiled tightly.

"You _are _a dork." Caspar replied with a smirk, bending over to reach into his backpack at his feet. After retrieving his books, he popped back up. "But aren't we all? Even I'm a dork. See?" From around the pile of notebooks and pencils, Caspar then produced a pair of thick, square Ray Ban glasses with. He put them on, grinning. His grey eyes magnetized in size, making him look a little disproportionate; however, Gordie couldn't help but notice that he still looked as adorable as before with them on.

"Who would have guessed that Football Sweat Caspar is as much of a dork as I am?" Gordie smiled, shaking his head. "I would have never suspected you to wear glasses."

"_Aye! _They're _reading _glasses." Caspar corrected.

"And that just makes it ten times more dorky." Gordie nodded in dork-approval. "Congrats. You are now one of the club. All you need is to wear those 24/7, a collared top and braces and you're good to go."

"Still have to improve my shit math skills before I apply for Dorkdom, though." Caspar added. "And that's why _you're _here."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I got a C+ on my last math quiz." Gordie offered.

"_Dude_!" Caspar exclaimed, laughing. "You're my _tutor_! You are officially disbanded from the dork committee."

"To be fair, I think dorks are the lame, clumsy ones and _nerds _are the academic ones." Gordie pointed out.

"Nerds can be clumsy and lame too." Caspar said with mock horror. "God, Gordie, just look at the examples around you. I'm lame as hell and I fell over about ten times in practice today and I still get mostly straight As except for in math which is why you are helping me. Use the examples around you! The truth is right in front of your eyes!"

"No, I'm lame as hell." Gordie said with brutal honestly. "I mean, come on. I'm _tutoring. _What's more lame than that?"

"Maybe the fact that I've read almost all the Shakespeare plays ever written?" Caspar offered. Gordie's eyes widened as Caspar's cheeks turned a timid, pale shade of pink.

"Seriously?" Gordie exclaimed.

"Yeah, wouldn't really take me for the type, would you?" Caspar shrugged. "Just another side of me that nobody really knows about."

Gordie gave Caspar a quick once-over before proceeding to slide further towards the center of the table, towards the pile of books.

"Alright, well, we should probably get started. What do you have to work on?" He asked, scanning over the books and notebooks and pencils in front of him. Caspar listed his to-dos of.

"I've got English and math that I'll need some help with…and then I have a history paper to get started, and then a Latin assignment."

"Alright, cool." Gordie picked through the books, noting his friend's neat, blocked handwriting-_Caspar D'Anthony_-over the front of each item. "Let's start with math. That cool?"

"Yeah, sure." Caspar said, plucking his math notebook from the pile, and a worksheet from a crowded blue folder. He opened to a fresh page, readying a pencil. Gordie did the same. The boys set to work, breaking down each problem, Gordie explaining the steps throughout in perfect formation. At nearly the fifth problem, Caspar got into rhythm, and the two split apart. Gordie's hands moved quickly across the paper, filling out box upon box of math problems, decimals and exponents and fractions mixing around into his mind. Neither of them spoke; the only sound that could be heard was the soft scratching of led on paper. Gordie glanced up at Caspar. His hair hung over his eyes as his head dipped, his neck arching over. He was absorbed in his work, his hand etching out the numbers across the paper. He paused in his work, tapping his eraser on the table like a drum stick as he thought. He bit his lip. Gordie smiled lightly, then returned to his work, but his mind wouldn't work. His mind was further now, maybe across the table with Caspar, or maybe all the way back at Castle Rock, where it all began. Either way, there was no way he was getting back to his seat, there, in the library, so he simply sat. Caspar shifted in his seat.

"Um…" He said softly. "I…" Gordie looked up. Caspar had his head lifted towards Gordie, pushing his blonde mop out of his eyes before looking back down at his paper again. He breathed out quickly. "I…I think I should tell you…what happened with Gavin and I…"

Gordie stared at Caspar, who raised his eyes to meet Gordie's through a curtain of golden hair. He gulped.

"Excuse me?" Gordie asked quietly.

"It's just that…" He sighed. "I really do trust you…and I feel like since you're friends with both of us, you should know." Gordie blinked at him. Caspar shoved his locks away from his eyes, sitting up. He looked at Gordie full on. "I just don't feel like it's right to keep you in the dark, you get me?"

"But…isn't it not your story to tell?" Gordie asked.

"It was his secret he gave to me." Caspar said quickly. "So I'm guessing I can do what I want with it, you know?"

Gordie shook his head.

"I don't know…" He said quietly; because he really _didn't. _More than half of him yearned to know what happened, the big secret, but a small part of him said it was wrong. Caspar shouldn't be telling him this. It was none of his business… "Seems kind of sketchy."

"What's sketchy about it?" Caspar laughed.

"I don't know…it just seems like you're selling his secret."

"Selling it?" He questioned. "For what?"

"I don't know…for friendship. Trust. Recognition?"

"Don't think this would involve recognition." Caspar said. "I'm really…kind of embarrassed about it to this day, to be honest…"

Gordie looked down.

"Oh." He said, then looked around the empty library; which was just so. Not a single soul was there to overhear. "Go ahead, I guess…what is it?" He averted his eyes, and, in turn, Caspar did the same. They both looked down at their notebooks, waiting for the bullet.

"Gavin's…He's gay." Caspar said quietly. Gordie looked up. His body swam with a warm sting of slight embarrassment. His palms tingled. A secret. He had it. It was his. What would he do? For some reason, it felt uncomfortable. A hot, clammy secret that was slowly beginning to strange him even before he knew the whole truth.

"What?" Gordie blurted. "How…How do you know? Like for sure, you know?"

"Well, I'm almost positive…" Caspar rubbed his knuckles under the table. Gordie got the feeling he was just as nervous-somehow-as he was.

"But you can't be _sure, _right?" Gordie pressed. "It's just an assumption, right? I mean anyone could get it; he does his hair in this certain way, wears nice clothes, from what I've seen…he's kinda bookish, and…" Gordie trailed off. _Does his hair, wears nice clothes, kind of bookish. _Was that what defined a gay person, anyway? He never knew one, or, at least, never thought he did. Not one who had come out, at least. But perhaps the most startling thing about tall those attributes was that nearly all of them applied to _himself. _

"I know…" Caspar answered. "I know because…because he kissed me."

"_What?" _Gordie spluttered. Now he was really feeling sick. Perspiration pricked his palms, his forehead and cheeks glazed with hot blush, and his lungs melted into his firm chest. He breathed in and out through his nose. "Are you…Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." Caspar mumbled.

"But…_what?" _Gordie shook his head. Somehow, this barely even came as a shock to him. It was almost like he could tell. But just hearing it, that word, made it all seem so vividly real. And _Caspar. _Why Caspar? Didn't he understand that he might as well have been the straightest person Gordie knew? Maybe it was because he just seemed so nice and sweet, or maybe it was the way that when the light hit him from the window-wall in the library, his eyes fireworked, his hair sparkled and shadows pulled across his cheeks and jaw, eventuating every essence of his features, or maybe, even, it was the feeling of acceptance no matter what when you were around him. Gordie got it; he saw the appeal. What he didn't understand was what Gavin thought would happen. It was a miracle that Caspar kept this secret for so long.

"Why did you tell me?" Gordie demanded softly.

"Huh?"

"Why would you tell me that?" He asked again.

"I don't know, I just…thought you should know." Caspar said dumbly.

"I just don't feel like it was your secret to tell, is all." Gordie looked down, surprised at his friend for doing something so insensitive. "You're lucky I'm not going to tell anyone."

"I knew that already." Caspar replied honestly. "That's why I told you. If I thought you were the gossip type, I wouldn't have said anything."

"Well, I'm glad you thought correctly." Gordie looked away.

"Sorry." His friend replied after a pause. "I shouldn't have. I just thought that since you're his friend, you might want to know."

"You can kill with secrets like that. You know that, right?" Gordie said quietly. "And now I have this big thing to wield around…"

"It's okay." Caspar said with a laugh. "We can wield it together." Just then, his eyes lit up in a spark of idea. "Wait, how about this; nothing said here leaves this library, alright? I don't tell anyone, you don't tell anyone. Everything is safe. The trust goes both ways. We'll do it for Gavin, alright?"

Gordie shrugged.

"Alright. Nothing passes the library walls."

"Deal."

They shook. And for a moment, everything felt kind of alright.

* * *

**Just found out that 'fireworked' is not, in fact, a word. It should be. Let's start a petiton. Who's with me? **


	12. Gay

**Haha guys I haven't posted in literally so long what is life. I found myself writing a lot of stuff from further into the story like scenes that haven't happened yet because I'm kind of in a block but I know what's going to happen next. Anyway, here's an extremely short filler for you all. Nothing special. **

**Love, **

**-Tommy**

* * *

I feel like the most eye-drawing panel in the vignette is in second panel. I used was a light tunnel effect when introducing the character of Christopher. I used an effect in which the background of Christopher's portrait was darker on the edges, gradually getting lighter as it came closer to him to create the effect of a light tunnel or void. Around him, speech bubbles held insults and things thrown at him. This represents the void into which Christopher was being put, and what these boys were sending him spiraling into. I also used the tool of graphic weight, contrasting the speech bubbles with the textured background, and depth, using the light-tunnel effect to create a movement or space effect to show that the void of insults and bullying carried on further than what was written.

I also feel like a powerful panel was that in which I am stepping in to help Christopher. Here, I use foreground and background. By making my legs larger in the front, I indicated that they were closer to the viewer, as making Christopher smaller indicated he was in the background. I also believe that the stance in which I placed myself showed power and determination.

In panel eight, I also used the tool of time. Using a bleed out into the gutters of a black background and multiple speech bubbles, I sped up a seemingly long-standing argument to a few sentences. Here, I feel that the colors represent the two different people and tones being used. Ryan's color is blue, for a more cool, offhand nastiness in his tone, while mine is red, showing the fury and anger in my voice and words. The black bleed represented the dark feeling of sinking rage that infested the argument.


	13. Undo

**Woo hoo, yay, new chapter, claps for me, wow, so writer, what finished, such accomplishments!1!1! **

**Sorry, had to get that out. Excuse. **

** It's been, like, forever since I wrote something, mostly because I've been really preoccupied with my tumblr (haha yaya i started a new one and im trying to keep the feed up kmskmskms) and also writing stuff that I'm going to integrate in later *smirk*. Only I know what the future holds for Pressure Points. **

**Okay, well, here's a chapter where stuff actually happens! Yay.**

**Plz review if you're reading this. It means the world. **

**-Ya boi tommy**

**Ps, I'm going to camp over summer holiday, so if you guys could make this last chapter count, I would really appreciate it. I'm going to be absent for a while, and would love to find some love from the readers. Cheers!**

* * *

_October 10th, 1961_

_ Dear Chris, _

_ Sorry it's been nearly a month since I answered your last letter. It's been a while. School has been really stressful; it's like the college courses, but only everyone's in it so it's ten times harder to accommodate for everyone. _

_ A lot of stuff happened around here. I got hit in the head with a baseball, I got an article written about me in the paper, I got in a fist fright (yes, me, in a fist fight. Which we won) and I made the baseball team. So I guess you could say that a lot has changed. _

_ Fall has barely even started and I'm still waiting for summer when I can maybepossibly come to Castle Rock if I keep my grades up and pray that my dad is in a good mood when I bring it up. He hasn't been in such a mood lately, though, because I got a C+ on a science quiz and now he has to send me to the school counselor. Our agreement at the beginning of the year (apparently) was that if I got any lower than a B I'd have to set up weekly meeting with her, because I convinced him to let me not go but I'm guessing things are different. Everything is different. I'll admit, maybe I need it, but I honestly don't feel too keen on going to see the shitty middle school counselor to talk about mom and Denny. It's like I spent so long covering their memories up and I really don't want to dig them up again. I can pass on the pity game for a while. Most people at school already know about mom, despite my efforts to hide it. _

_ I also found out that Gavin is gay. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, but it doesn't seem too impossibly weird because…_

Gordie flipped himself over on his bed, facing the ceiling. Fuck this. He was never going to finish it if he got onto the topic of Gavin and his gayness. He scribbled over the last sentences, biting his lip before proceeding to the next topic.

_So Molli. She's hot. I'll be honest, I never thought that Chris Chambers would ever get a girlfriend, but here it is. What's she like? What does she like doing and stuff, I don't know. Also, how are your new replacement friends? I expect that you're still hanging out with the rest of our dork friends, right? Please don't leave them. I'm nearly 100% sure that if you did, Teddy would flip and eat Vern. _

_ But Molli looks like a cool chick. Just watch your back, alright? As your friend, I am obliged to watch it for you, but as I'm in a completely different state right now, so I can't exactly do that…_

_Is your dad back yet? I remember you said he was gone and didn't come back. Hope everything is alright…_

_I miss home so much. I wish I was there instead of here, hiding your letters under my mattress…Life is fucking hell, but we've all got our devils and our angels and I guess we just have to go through life like that. I swear, right when I hit 18, I'm going home. Promise. _

_ Happy fall!_

_ Your friend, _

_ Gordie Lachance_

Excuses, excuses, and more excuses. He knew that nearly half of that was a lie. He didn't really have that much stress on him. It was really just him not doing any of his work and freaking out at the last minute. Moreover, his workload in school had noting to do with Chris and his letters to him. He had plenty of free time in which he could be writing to his best friend, but he was still tender after Chris dropped the Molli Bomb and everything blew up and fell apart inside. It had taken him a while to recover from it; precisely three baseball game rotations, two quizzes, one test and two study sessions with Caspar to haul ass to the typewriter and finally speak to Christopher Chambers.

"Gordie, have you seen my wallet!?" Mr. Lachance yelled suddenly, wrenching Gordie from his thoughts. He sat up groggily, blood rushing to his head quickly and making his vision blur.

"What!?" He called back, walking to the door.

"Did you take my wallet?" His father repeated. Gordie rolled his eyes.

"No!" He replied snappishly, opening up the door and looking to his dad across the hallway, who was sitting, as usual, at little round kitchen table, submersed in a pile of letters and papers and taxes and work. His glasses were shoved carelessly into his mess of salt-and-pepper bed-head hair, a hand resting hard on his temples in exasperation. Gordie gave him a placid look of annoyance. "I don't have your wallet. Why would I take it?" He said this in a cold, icy tone, but he wasn't particularly in the mood for his dad's petty money problems.

"I don't know, I just…" Mr. Lachance paused, moving his head slightly to peer into Gordie's room behind him. He placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Gordie, your room is a mess. It's probably in there."

"Dad, it's more likely in the fridge than in my room." Gordie reasoned under his breath. Still, Mr. Lachance proceeded to rise from his chair and enter Gordie's room uninvited. Gordie leaned on the doorframe, his arms folded.

"You could _ask _to come inside, you know…" He muttered. His father glared at him.

"I've had enough of your attitude, Gordon. Just let me look."

Gordie rolled his eyes into the back of his head, swinging out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Presently, the phone rang, blaring noise into his left ear. Gordie waited a few rings to see if Mr. Lachance would emerge from inside his room to pick up the ringing telephone, but he didn't.

"No, it's fine. I'll just talk to your fucking co workers myself like a secretary. No big deal…" He muttered to himself, reaching out for the phone. Hesitating just enough to let out a long drawn, loud sigh that his father would hopefully hear, he closed his fingers numbly around the handset, pushing the receiver to his ear.

"Lachance residence." He said dryly. "Wanna talk to my dad, or…"

"Hey Gordie." A voice said timidly from the other end of the line. Gordie relaxed slightly.

"Oh, Gavin." He cringed at the sound of his voice. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody in that moment, including Gavin, and it obviously showed in his tone.

Gavin, who was a master of reading voices and faces, caught onto this vibe. However, instead of taking it to heart, he hesitated in his words.

"Um…Gosh, you should awful." He admitted bluntly. Gordie pressed down on the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to keep him newfound raging headache at bay. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine…" He mumbled. "Totally fine. I'm just…tired."

"Tired…" Gavin scoffed, disbelieving. "Right." If Gordie could, he would glare at him. Obviously, Gavin picked up on this as well and hastened to the point. "Um, well, I actually called to ask if you…" He trailed off, sighing deeply. Even Gordie, who was terrible with people and skip-reading emotions like books, could sense there was something he was debating saying; something possibly controversial or probably annoying, and the two of them knew it. Gordie waited, his nail tapping on the back of the phone in bleak impatience as he stared at his bedroom door. His dad was taking an awful long time in there…

"Well, I was just wondering if you had…if you had the math homework from yesterday." Gavin sighed in defeat. This was obviously not what he was originally going to say, but Gordie was completely fine with reading off a couple of math problems as opposed to dealing with whatever problems this kid had to throw at him. "I think I lost my bag, and I know you've always got your backpack with-"

"Gav, I've got it." Gordie muttered reassuringly into the phone, telling him subconsciously that whatever he got out of saying, it didn't really matter and he could just shut up and save himself a lot of over thinking and possible embarrassment via word fumbling. Gordie could almost feel the relief tumble from the phone.

"Right." Gavin breathed as Gordie dropped the phone, letting it dangle down the wall by it's cord as he jogged to retrieve his backpack. After a few minutes of rummaging, he finally picked out the crumpled sheet of terrifyingly complicated algebra problems and ran quickly across the scratched wood floors to the phone. He grabbed the receiver, saving it from the embrace of gravity, and pressed it to his ear, setting the homework out on the table and smoothing away the crease. He gave it a quick once-over to insure he didn't mess up.

"Okay, I'm here." He said breathily. "It's that sheet with the twenty problems, right?"

"Gordon!" Mr. Lachance yelled suddenly from Gordie's room. Gordie rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt, putting his head in his hands. He pushed the transceiver away from his mouth.

"What!?" He demanded.

"Yeah, that's the one." Gavin's voice said through the phone, but Gordie was only half listening.

"Gordon, get in here!" His dad called, his voice stern and solid. Gordie winced. What now?

"I'm busy!" He countered quickly.

"Now, Gordie!"

"I said, I'm busy! Give me a minute!" That was the final word. Gordie put the phone back to his face. "Yeah, what."

"That's it." Gavin repeated. "That's the sheet."

"You've got pen and paper?" Gordie asked. Gavin mumbled something in a positive response. "Okay, number one…" Absent mindedly, Gordie began to read off the problems, but only half of his mind was focused. He couldn't possibly stop thinking about what his dad was yelling about. Whatever it was, he felt completely numb and vividly scared, anticipation and the bad kind of adrenaline that made him shiver down to his toes pumping through his veins. Jittery, blindingly insecure in himself and his ability to pull himself together. It was like he was going to crumble onto the ground if someone tried to touch him. He would never let himself admit it, but he was broken down inside, completely falling apart at the seams with only his skin to hold him in. One more thing thrown at him, and he would explode. At the very moment, he was narrowly avoiding walking the school halls like an antisocial zombie with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep because his buzzing brain wouldn't shut up; thoughts of his mess inside, thoughts of his life, thoughts of his broken machine that was himself, thoughts of maybe not being himself at all. Maybe leaving. He wasn't suicidal, but he was so simply torn down. Everyone he loved had left, floated towards the skies and away. When, he wondered, would he cut his tethers and burn his bridges and fly to the clouds as well? Was he depressed? Was he crazy? Definitely crazy, and definitely not happy,that was for sure. u

"Gordie?" A voice called out through the phone. Gordie blinked at the sheet in front of him a few times, disoriented.

"W-w-what. Yeah?" He stammered dumbly.

"You stopped talking." Gavin informed him. Gordie rolled his eyes.

"Right. Sorry. Where was I?" He asked, defeated, after a few seconds.

"Middle of number sixteen." Gavin said.

"Umm, okay…that was two to the sixth power plus…" Gordie rattled off the last of the problems quickly, not quite sure that he wanted it to end. In the moment, Gavin was kind of his little way of procrastinating.

But it didn't last. In a matter of minutes, Gordie had reached the very end of the sheet, and, as a result, began to find it very hard to breathe. However, in all attempts to stay normal for the sake of the boy on the other end of the phone, he took a deep breath, letting it out with a mighty line of air, and bit his lip.

"Is that it?" Gavin asked, his voice distant and hollow. Gordie gulped, his fingers shaking as he folded up the paper.

"Yeah." He muttered. Gavin hesitated, awkwardness heavy in the air.

"Well, uh, thanks for that…" He said slowly.

"No problem." Gordie replied quietly, his chin to his chest as he stared down at his feet, his mind swimming. "See you on Monday."

"Right. See you." Gavin breathed. Gordie waited as the phone clicked into place and the line went dead. Eery, a piercing ringing noise drilling into his brain until he dropped the phone, letting it dangle by the coiled cord, swinging back and forth. He turned an ear tentatively towards his room, searching for any sounds of movement, but he heard none. He shivered, placed the phone back in it's rightful place, and proceeded towards his bedroom. Every step plunking down onto the worn wood felt heavy, dragging his feet until he came to stand in the door frame, gripping his hands inside each other.

It hadn't even begin to cross his mind that he had left the letter on the bed. He looked at his father, sitting across the white, undone duvet cover, his hands gripping the edges of the paper with dismal fury. His folder, ransacked and sad, laid open on the plush carpet, letters strewn across the floor in a disarray of Christopher Chamber's handwriting. It was sickening. Gordie legitimately felt like he was going to puke right there. His throat knotted, his cheeks burned, and his chest grew aflame. How could he be such an idiot?

"I trusted you, Gordon." Mr. Lachance said finally, not looking up from the letter. "I told you once, I told you a thousand times, do not speak to this boy. I took you out of that town to get away from him and still you continue to disobey me."

"Dad, I'm sorry…" Gordie choked out as a last resort, not knowing what else to say. His breath was shaky as he forced out the words. "I really am, I just…he's my best friend in the entire world…and that means a lot to me."

"Yeah, damn right it does." His father growled under his breath. Gordie cringed. "You know, I spend all my life just trying to protect you, Gordie. I wanted you to peruse interests worth perusing and make friends whose fathers aren't drunks. Make friends with kids who aren't crazy or thieves-"

"He's not a thief!" Gordie yelped suddenly, surprised at his own words. He whipped his eyes in dismay, finding that they were already welling with tears of hatred and dark emotion. "He isn't, okay? So stop thinking that. He tried to return the goddamn milk money, if you really want to know! He's honest to god the best and almost only friend I ever had! I can't just leave something like that!"

"Gordie, now, we're going to have to find out a way to deal with this. We can't go along like an incident such as this didn't happen." Mr. Lachance had dropped the letter and was on his feet now, towering over his son a few feet away, his eyes glowing with vast madness. "I thought bringing you to the city would help you keep grounded, but obviously, that isn't working."

"Oh, hell, what's that supposed to mean?" Gordie spat. His dad inched closer.

"It means that you'd better get your act together or there are going to be serious consequences! I sent you to Huntington's to keep you away from that kind of thing, but if you're in a home with a full time working father and the minimal supervision that I provide, something has to be done about it!"

Gordie shrunk back into himself, most of his confidence flickering and burning out. He didn't dare look his father in the eye, so simply stared at the neckline of his grey tee shirt.

"What are you trying to say here…" Gordie said quietly, suddenly feeling very small and very scared, like a mouse who stumbled through the wrong hole and found himself in the middle of a bloodthirsty cat convention. He gulped.

"I'm saying that I think it would be best if you transferred to school housing." Mr. Lachance said slowly, but firmly. "At least, for now. You need discipline and a well supervised environment. I only blame myself for not watching over you enough to ensure something like this wouldn't happen. It would be better there."

"But-"

However, Mr. Lachance was already pushing past him and walking into the kitchen.

"I'll contact the school tomorrow. I want this to go into action as soon as possible." He said darkly, heading for the kitchen table and sitting down warily to his work again. Gordie just stared, completely dumbfounded. His ears rang. Everything felt numb. What, exactly, had he just been told? Not living with his father? Staying at the school? What in hell would that be like? No matter how much he despised the man, he was still family, and the only remainder of said family that he had left.

He slammed the door to his bedroom behind him. Hard. He could nearly feel the walls vibrate, hear the house shake, but maybe that was just his pounding heart raging angrily in his chest. Get up, say something, don't just go around slamming doors! Gordie waited impatiently behind the door, listening for any signs of discomfort. He wanted his dad to get mad, to yell at him, to get sad, to show any kind of emotion. He hated that look of blank superiority that made him so helpless in his shadow. He wanted to have a reason to fight back, to scream until the neighbors called the goddamn police, because that was how mad he felt in that moment. He wanted to tell his dad how much he _despised _his values and superficial views on his former friends, how it seemed like it didn't matter what Gordie did so long as he looked like a jock. How his friends could be anybody as long as they came from a respectable background and a rich family, even if the truth was that you didn't have to be respectable to be _good. _And, in that sense, you didn't have to be good to be respectable; every family had their secrets, so a family that shines with self pride of politician uncles and world-renowned army general grandfathers didn't necessarily have to fruit off a child with any kind of _good _in his veins. There was a fine line between good and simply doing the right thing as well, and as his father might think that he was doing everything in his mind to make his son's life better, and that he was being a good parent, he wasn't necessarily doing what would be _good_ for Gordie. Inevitably, if Gordie kept his whole life in a little bottle and refused to open it to anyone, one day it would split and break and all his sorrows would come lashing out and reach to strangle him. Everything he spent so long burying carefully and sticking an already dead but slightly pretty looking flower would be resurrected, undug, the flower strewn to the side because you can't just put glitter over a corpse and call it alright. He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell, and he wanted to argue until all of this was thrown out into the open air for his father to finally understand; you couldn't dash glitter over your dying son and call it perfectly alright.

* * *

**Pps, if anyone saw that creepy update with all the coding, I'm so sorry, I really have like no idea what happened. I tried to add in these emoji things..this is what I get for trying to look kawaii when im trash yayyayayayya okay anways that's all. **


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